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THE   COMPREHENSIVE  READERS, 

BY    S.  G.  GOODRICH, 
CONSIST   OF   THE   FOLLOWING  : 

The  First  Reader,  with  Engravings,  96  pages,  16mo. 

The  Second  Reader,     ditto.  .     .  '  .  144  pages,  16mo. 

The  Third  Reader, 180  pages,  12mo. 

The  Fourth  Reader,     .....  312  pages,  12mo. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congresg;  in  the  year  1839,  bj 

S.  G.   Goodrich, 

in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetta. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 

ST£REOTTPXD    BT 

POLSOM,  WELLS,    AND  THURSTON, 

FRITTTXRl   TO    THS    UmVERSlTT. 


PREFACE. 


This  Reader,  the  fourth  and  last  of  the  series,  is  intended  for  the 
more  advanced  classes  in  our  schools.  It  is  particularly  designed  as  a 
sequel  to  the  Third  Reader,  but  as  it  may  be  convenient  to  use  it 
independently  of  the  other  volumes,  it  has  been  the  endeavor  of  the 
author  to  make  it  suitable  to  such  a  purpose. 

In  preparing  it,  the  views  expressed  in  the  preceding  works,  have 
been  adhered  to.  It  is  the  idea  of  the  author,  that,  in  reading,  a  lesson 
should  be  to  the  pupil  as  a  grist  in  the  mill,  —  it  should  be  thoroughly 
understood  and  digested.  And,  moreover,  this  should  be  done  in  re 
spect  to  every  reading  lesson,  so  that  the  habit  of  reading  with  a  full 
comprehension  of  everything  read,  should  be  established. 

The  common  notion,  therefore,  that  reading  books  are  only  to  be  run 
over  as  matters  of  sound,  without  respect  to  sense,  is  repudiated. 
Reading  is  regarded  as  having  for  its  chief  object  the  gaining  or  com- 
municating of  ideas,  and,  as  essential  to  its  attainment,  a  complete 
understanding  of  what  is  read  is  esteemed  indispensable.  A  selection 
of  lessons  for  such  a  purpose,  must  obviously  be  adapted  to  the  tastes 
and  capacities  of  youth,  in  order  to  rouse  their  curiosity  and  thus 
bring  their  minds  into  active  exercise;  and  the  mode  of  using  these 
must  be  essentially  different  from  what  has  too  often  been  practised. 

In  respect  to  the  selections  for  this  volume,  the  author  has  sought  to 
keep  the  preceding  maxims  steadily  in  view.  He  has  also  endeav- 
ored not  only  to  give  extensive  variety,  and  specimens  from  most  of 
the  great  masters  of  our  language,  but  he  has  attempted  to  make  the 
work  subserve  the  interests  of  morality,  religion,  and  good  manners. 

The  Rules  for  Readers  and  Speakers,  and  the  Sugfrestions  to  Teachers, 
will  point  out  the  mode  in  which  the  author  believes  a  reading  book 
should  be  used.  It  may  seem  at  first  blush,  that  too  much  work  is  here 
laid  out  for  teacher  and  pupil ;  but  it  is  believed,  that,  if  the  time  of 
the  former  permits  his  adoption  of  the  plan  suggested,  the  latter 
will  by  no  means  object  to  it,  at  least  after  he  has  conquered  the 
first  difficulties.  On  the  contrary,  a  strong  confidence  is  entertained, 
that  the  pupil  will  find  his  interest  quickened  by  the  fruits  he  will 
reap,  lesson  by  lesson,  in  pursuing  this  system.  It  will,  of  course,  lie 
with  the  teacher  to  judge  of  the  cases  in  which  the  rules  and  sug- 
gestions offered,  should  be  passed  over,  and  such  cases  will  doubtless 
occur.  In  many  schools,  where  the  number  of  scholars  is  dispropor- 
tioned  to  the  ability  of  the  instructer,  the  latter  may  not  be  able  to  follow 
out  the  suggestions  ;  and,  in  some  other  cases,  the  inadequate  capacity  of 
the  pupils  may  make  it  a  point  of  discretion  to  omit  the  etymological 
exercises.  Indeed,  this  whole  matter  must  be  considered  as  submitted 
to  the  judgment  of  the  instructer  ;  and  therefore  the  author  has  given 
the  rules  the  name  o£ hints,  and  the  plan  of  study,  that  of  suggestions. 
In  this  light  alone  he  wishes  them  to  be  regarded. 


54!i84 


,v  PREFACE. 

In  preparing  the  work  the  author  has  used  a  liberty  accorded  in 
such  cases,  —  that  of  modifying  the  passages  taken  from  other  authors, 
to  suit  his  purpose.  He  has  chosen  among  the  wilderness  of  flowers, 
rather  with  reference  to  quality  than  a  great  name.  He  has  particu- 
larly endeavored  to  make  an  amusing  and  instructive  volume,  and 
pieces  which  would  especially  exercise  the  ait  of  elocution  have  had 
a  preference.  In  supplying  the  vacancies  which  abundant  research  still 
left,  recourse  has  been  had  to  original  compositions. 

The  author  is  bound  to  acknowledge  his  obligations  to  teachers,  who 
have  aided  him  by  their  valuable  suggestions ;  and  it  is  proper  for  hin; 
to  say,  that,  in  the  Hints  to  Readers  and  Speakers,  he  has  derived  many- 
ideas  from  Dr.  Porter's  Analysis,  Hall's  Reader's  Guide,  and  Kirkham'g 
Elocution.  In  the  Etymological  Exercises,  he  has  availed  himself 
of  the  elaborate  and  complete  work  of  Oswald. 

As  it  respects  the  general  plan  of  these  works,^  the  author  lays  little 
claim  to  originality.  The  idea  of  prefacing  the  lessons  by  a  series 
of  Rules,  adopted  in  the  Third  Reader,  and  in  this  also,  was  introduced 
by  Murray,  long  since,  and  has  been  acted  Upon  by  others.  The 
application  of  these  rules,  as  practised  in  the  last  two  volumes  of  thi^ 
series,  is  believed  to  be  peculiar,  and  it  is  hoped  may  be  useful.  The 
following  of  the  reading  lessons  with  spelling  lessons  derived  from  the 
reading  matter,  has  been  long  practised  and  is  here  adopted.  The 
pointing  out  of  inaccurate  pronunciation,  and  the  questions  for  examina- 
tion, as  to  the  sense  and  meaning^  of  the  lessons,  are  common  and 
obvious  means  of  instruction.  The  Etymological  Exercises  in  this 
volume  are  a  new  application  of  what  has  been  before  the  public  for 
several  j'ears.  The  plan  of  requiring  pupils  to  study  reading  lessons, 
and  one  which  is  deemed  very  important,  appears  to  have  been  in 
successful  practice  in  Europe  for  a  considerable  period.  The  objects 
of  this  have  been  stated  to  be,  to  render  the  acquiring  of  the  art  of 
Reading  more  easy  and  agreeable  to  the  pupil ;  to  make  the  particular 
knowledge  contained  in  the  lessons  available  to  him  ;  and.  by  a  carel'ul 
analysis  of  each  sentence,  to  give  him  a  thorough  acquaintance  WMth 
our  language.  These  objects  are  too  important  to  be  overlooked,  and 
the  author  has  sought  to  ensure  their  attainment. 

But,  while  the  author  thus  resigns  all  claims  to  invention,  he  hopes 
he  has  been  able  to  select  and  combine  in  this  series,  to  which  the 
publishers  have  given  the  title  of  Comprehensive,  the  best  aids  and 
helps  that  have  been  devised  for  this  species  of  schoolbook  ;  while, 
in  accomplishing  his  task,  he  believes  he  has  copied  nothing  from  the 
various  manuals  in  common  use  in  our  schools. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE  I 

Hints  to  Readers  and  Speakers     7  j 
Suggestions  to  Teachers  25 


LESSON 

1.  Petition  to  the  Reader 

2.  The  Fox  and  Elephant 

3.  The  Twins 

4.  Tile  Wounded  Robin 

5.  The  Violet  and  Nightshade 

6.  An  Escape 

7.  The  Greedy  Fox 

8.  Tlifi  Last  of  the  Manielukes 

Dumas. 

9.  Rubens  and  the  Spanish  Monk 

10.  The  Jay  and  Owl 

1 1 .  The  M  idn  ight  Mail  Miss  Gould. 
■^2.  The  Widow  and  her  Son 

W.  Irving. 

13.  Anecdotes  of  Birds      Nuttall. 

14.  To  a  Wild  Violet,  in  March 

15.  The  Chameleon  and  Porcupine 

16.  The  Bible 

17.  The  Winds  Miss  Gould. 

18.  The  False  Witness  Detected 

Knowles. 

19.  The  Bob  O'Linkum  Hoffman. 

20 .  The  Migration  of  Birds  Nuttall. 
^l.  The  Blind  Musician     Bulwer. 

22.  Franklin's  First  Entrance  into 

Philadelphia  Franklin. 

23.  Lake  Superior 

24.  The  Discontented  Mole 

25.  Aphorisms  from  Shakspeare 

26.  The  Departure  of  the  Seasons 

Prentice. 
On  Time 
The  American  Autumn 

New  York  Mirror. 
Progress  of  Liberty 
The  Broken-Hearted  Prentice. 

31.  Albania  during  the  late  Greek 

War  D' Israeli. 

32.  A  Turkish  Chief      D'hradi. 

33.  The  Alpine  Horn 
"*^34.  Rules  for  Conversation 

35.  Boat  Song 

36.  Sketches  of  Syria     D'Lraeli. 

37.  Hand  Work  and  Head  Work 

Miss  Martineau. 

38.  The  Power  of  Conscience 

Baltimore  Paper. 

39.  Prodigal  Son   Luke,  Chap.  y.v. 

40.  To  Seneca  Lake        Percival. 

41.  A  Syrian  Desert       D'Israeli. 

42.  A  Bedouin  Encampment 

B'' Israeli. 


LESSON  paqB 

43.  The  Fisherman    B.Cornwall.  101 

44.  The  Clouds  G.  Mellen.  101 
102 
103 
105 
103 
112 
115 


27. 


29 
—'30 


88 


45.  The  Village  Bells 

46.  Jerusalem 

47.  Egypt 

48.  Falls  of  Niagara  Greenvsood. 

49.  The  BiJshful  Man    T.  Gray. 

50.  The  Zenaida  Dove  Audubon. 

51.  The  Queen  and  the  Quakeress 
Charnbers'  Edinburgh  Journal.  116 

52.  Adoration  of  the  Deity  in  tl>e 

Midst  of  His  Works 

T.  Moora.  118 
53    Wlmt  are  Emblems  1 

Evenings  at  Home.  119 

54.  Naomi  and  Ruth         Ruth  i.  121  — 

55.  W^ealth  and  Fashion 

Author  of  Three  Experiments.  123 

56.  Goffe  the  Regicide  2\  Dwight.  125 

57.  Melrose  Abbey  8cott.  126 

58.  The  Set  of  Diamonds  127"«r 

59.  Fight  with  a  Shark 

English  Paper,  129 

60.  Virginias  and  his  Daughter 

Virginia  Knoudes.  131** 

61.  Capture  of  a  Whale    Cooper.  133 

62.  Life  S.  P.  Holbrook.  135 

63.  The  River  Bowles.  135 

64.  Reputation  136 

65.  Anecdote  of  Dwight  and  Den- 

nie  Tudor  137 

66.  On  the  Death  of  Professor 

Fisher  Brainard.  138 

67.  Incidents  of  the  Battle  of  Bun- 

ker Hill       A.  H.  Everett.  139 

68.  Contending  Passions 

Shakspeare.  141 

69.  Baffled  Revenge  and  Hale  Do .  143 

70.  A  Slide  in  the  White  Moun- 

tains  Mrs.  Hale.   147 

71.  I'm  saddest  when  I  sing 

T.  H.  Bayhy.  149 

72.  The  Planter's  Home  in  Flor- 

ida Latrohe.  149 

73.  Irish  Biill.<5  151 

74.  The  Town  Pump  Hawthorne.  154 

75.  Colloquial    Powers    of    Dr. 

Franklin  Wirt. 

76.  To  an  East  Indian  Gold  Coin 

Ley  den. 

77.  Eloquence    of  John  Adams 

Webster. 

78.  To  the  Rainbow      Campbell. 

79.  Scene  on  the  Mississippi  FlfM.lGb 

80.  The  Cap  of  Liberty  Knawks.  168 


158 

159 

161 
164 


CONTENTS 


LB880N  PAGE 

SI.  Select  Passages  James.  172 

82.  Traits  of  Irish  Character.     176 

83.  Anecdote  of  Dr.  Chauncy 

Tudor.  179 

84.  The  Glory  of  God  in  the 

Beauties  of  Creation 

T.  Moore.  180 
"^85.  Domestic  LoTe  Croly.  181 

86.  A    Gypsy  Encampment   in 

England  James.   182 

87.  Eloquence   and    Humor   of 

Patrick  Henry         Wirt.  18,5 

88.  The  Angel  of  the  Leaves 

Miss  Gould.   1S6 

89.  Self-Cultivation  E.  Everett.  189 

90.  Sabbath  Thoughts 

A.  Cunningham.  191 

91.  The  Sea  Greenwood.  192 

92.  The  Psalms  Cheever.  197 

93.  God  our  Refuge  Psal.  xlvi.  198 

94.  London  199 

95.  The  Nunnery  201 

96.  Soldier's  Dream   Campbell.  203 

97.  The  Sabbath  Grahame.  204 

98.  Neatness                    Dennie.  206 
—  99.  Children                        Neal.  207 

100.  Anecdotes  of  CliildreniYpa/.  209 

101.  EarlvDisplayofGeniu3Djci.212 

102.  The  Calumniator       Griffin.  215 

103.  Verses  Wolfe.  207 

104.  Chamois  of  the  A  lps.Sjm<mrf.  218 
-  105.    Dress  Mrs.  Farrar.  221 

106.  I  'm  pleased  and   vet   I  'm 

sad  H.  K.  White.  224 

107.  Scenes  on  the  Hudson  River 

in  Early  Times      Irving.  225 

108.  The  Immortal  Mind  Byron.  227 

109.  Robert  Emmett  228 

110.  The  Broken  Heart     Irving.  230 

111.  Apellcs  and  Protogenes 

Mrs.  Lee.  232 

112.  The  Black  Sheep  235 

113.  Sabbath  Morning  Hatvthorne.  237 

114.  The  Friends  or  Quakers 

Wm.  Hewitt.  239 

115.  Adherence  to  Old  Customs    240 
J16.  The  Wild  Violet  Miss  Go^dd.  243 

117.  Poetry  Dewey.  244 

118.  The  Coral  Insect 

yirs.  Sigourney.  246 

119.  Who  are  the  truly  Happy  ^   247 

120.  Hymn  to  the  North  Star 

Bryant.  250 

121.  The  Duty  of  Industry  252 

122.  Weehawken  Halleck.  253 
J23.  The    Triumphal    Song    of 


LESSON  PAGE 

Moses  after  the  Passage 

of  the  Red  Sea  Exod.  xv.  254 

124.  Select  Passages  256 

125.  Ode  to  Evening         Collins.  259 

126.  The  Murderer  Webster.  261 

127.  Importance  of  Good  Rules 

of  Betmvior  264 

128.  St.  Patrick  267 

129.  Departure  of  Adam  and  Eve 

from  Paradise        Milton.  270 

130.  Sonnet,  on   his  Blindness, 

by  Miltnn.  271 

131.  The  Power  of  God,  as  illus- 

trated by  Astronomy  DicA:.  272 

132.  Ocean  Byron.  274 

133.  Religion  in  the  People  neces- 

sary to  good  Government 

Washington.  275 

134.  Power  of  the  Soul      Dana.  276 

135.  The  Voyage  of  Life  Johnson.  278 

136.  The  Coming  of  a  Devastat- 

ing Army  Joel  ii.  282 

137.  The  Consequences  of  Athe- 

ism Channing.  283 

138.  The  Character  of  a  Good 

Parson  Dryden.  285 

139.  Studies   for  the  Statesman 

Clay.  286 

140.  The  Puritans  Bancroft.  287 

141.  Cesar's  Funeral  Shakspeare.  288 

142.  Courtesy  in  Military  Men 

Butler.  292 
14.3.  TheWounded  Spirit  Couyer.  294 

144.  Death  of  Lord  Bvron  Scott.  295 

145.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  Burke.  297 

146.  Advantages  of  Christianiz- 

ing the  Heathen  Beecher.  298 

147.  Character  of  Washington 

J.  Q.  Adams.  300 

148.  Extensionof  Christianity  by 

Missions  Wayland.   301 

149.  A  Traveller  perishing  in  the 

Snow  Thomson.  302 

150.  Decay  of  the  Indians   Cass.  303 

151.  The    Declaration   of  Inde- 

pendence    J.  Q.  Adams.  305 

152.  History  of  America  iSparAw.  308 

153.  Efficacy  of  the  Sacred  Scrip- 

tures Wayland.  310 

154.  Epigrams  813 

155.  Spring  Greenwood.  315 

156.  Autumn  Alison.  318 

157.  The  Idiot  Blackwood's  Mag.  319 

158.  Waverley  and  Fergus    Mc 

Ivor  Scott.   321 

159.  A  Ship  Sinking        Wilson.  323 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND    SPEAKERS. 

QCf"  The  following  hints  enrihrace  nearly  the  same  topics  as  the  rules  pre- 
fixed to  "  the  Third  Reader  :  "  they  are  designed  to  enforce  those  rules  upon 
the  attention  of  the  pupil,  in  a  manner  adapted  to  his  more  advanced  pro- 
gress. It  is  obvious,  however,  that  their  utility  must  depend  chiefly  upon 
their  application  by  the  teacher,  in  the  course  of  tuition. 

1,  The  first  requisite  in  reading  or  speaking  to 
Others,  is  a  clear  and  distinct  articulation. 

Articulation  is  the  uttering  of  syllables  or  words.  In  reading  or 
speaking  to  others,  you  aim  at  producing  a  certain  effect  upon  the 
minds  of  your  hearers.  In  order  to  accomplish  this,  you  must  induce 
them  to  listen  and  become  interested  in  what  you  say.  But  auditors 
•will  never  listen  with  iriterest,  unless  they  can  hear  what  is  said  with- 
out effort. 

To  make  persons  hear  easily,  it  is  less  necessary  to  speak  loud,  than 
to  utter  each  word  clearly  and  roundly.  Every  one  who  has  been  in 
the  habit  of  speaking  to  deaf  persons,  knows,  that  the  surest  way  to 
make  them  bear  is,  not  to  vociferate,  but  to  speak  slowly  and  distinctly. 

Good  articulation,  then,  is  an  essential  requisite  in  reading  or  speak- 
ing to  others.  It  has  been  said  to  be  to  the  ear,  what  good  print  or  a 
fair  handwriting  is  to  the  eye.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  read  these,  as  it  is  a 
revolting  task  to  read  bad  and  blurred  print,  or  a  nearly  illegible  hand- 
writing. In  the  same  way,  we  hear  a  good  speaker  with  pleasure, 
while  we  are  disgusted  with  a  mumbling  or  a.mouthing  one.  A  certain 
•jyriter  says,  "  In  just  articulation,  the  words  are  not  to  be  hurried 
over;  nor  precipitated  syllable  over  syllable  ;  nor,  as  it  were,  molted, 
together  in  a  mass  of  confusion.  They  should  be  neither  abridged  nor 
prolonged  ;  nor  swallowed  nor  forced  ;  they  should  not  be  trailed  nor 
draw^led,  nor  let  to  slip  out  carelessly,  so  as  to  drop  unfinished.  They 
are  to  be  delivered  out  from  the  lips  as  beautiful  coins  newly  issued 
from  the  mint,  deeply  and  accurately  impressed,  perfectly  finished, 
neatly  struck  by  the  proper  organs,  distinct,  in  due  succession,  and  of 
due  weight." 

The  importance  of  a  distinct  articulation  in  a  speaker,  may  be  illus- 
trated by  what  Cicero  tells  us  of  the  ancient  Romans.  "  The  whole 
theatre  was  in  an  uproar,"  says  he,  '•  if  one  of  the  speakers  happened 
to  put  in  one  syllable  too  many  or  too  few." 

2.  Study  accuracy  of  pronunciation. 

Walker's  Dictionary  is  the  common  standard  of  pronunciation  in 
England,  and  perhaps  in  this  country;  but,  as  a  guide  to  American 
speakers,  Worcester  may  be  safely  recommended.  It  is  desirable,  that 
every  person  learning  the  art  of  reading,  as  the  means  of  using  his 
mother  tongue  with  the  best  effect,  should  habitually  keep  a  Dictiona- 
ry at  his  side,  as  well  for  pronunciation  as  definition.  It  is  especially 
important,  that  the  pupil  establish  the  habit  of  attention  to  pronuncia- 


8  THE  FOURTH   READER. 

lion,  BO  that  he  may  correct  such  vulgarisms  as  he  may  have  adopted, 
and  avoid  others  which  he  might  catch  from  those  around  him.  In 
the  Third  Reader,  I  have  pointed  out,  lesson  by  lesson,  the  words  that 
occur  which  are  often  pronounced  improperly.  In  order  more 
effectually  to  warn  the  pupil  against  errors  of  this  kind,  I  will  enu- 
merate certain  classes  of  faults  to  which  he  is  exposed,  and,  in  his 
reading  of  tlie  subsequent  lessons,  I  invite  his  frequent  reference  to 
this  list. 

The  letter  a,  occurring  in  the  first  syllable,  is  often  omitted  or  imper- 
fectly sounded.  Thus  ascribe  is  pronounced  'scribe;  allure,  'lure; 
adorn,  'dom. 

The  same  fault  is  much  more  common  with  the  vowel  c  ;  prepare  is 
pronounced /w'/)arc  ;  ^presei\e,jrr  serve  ;  exist,  'xist ;  eclectic,  'clectic; 
depart,  d' part ;  deliver,  d' liver ;  ensnare,  'nsnare;  traveller,  traveller; 
every,  evry;  several,  scvral. 

In  some  words,  instead  of  having  its  proper  sound,  e  is  read  like  u 
in  suppose.  Thus  belief,  is  read  lul-icf ;  severe,  suv-ere ;  certain, 
sutVn;  before,  buf-ore  ;  behold,  buh-old.  So  with  the  vowel  i.  Impure 
is  pronounced  'mpure ;  imprison,  'mprison ;  incautious,  'ncautious.  So- 
with  the  vowel  o.  Correct,  erect ;  collapse,  elapse ;  occur,  'cur  • 
omnipotent,  'mnipotent. 

But  the  most  common  fault  with  o  in  the  first  syllable,  is  to  sound  it 
as  u.  Compress  is  pronounced  cmnpress ;  congeal,  cungcal ;  monop- 
oly, Twuno/Jo/y;  convey,  cunvey;  propitious,  prupitious  ;  concur,  cun- 
cur  ;  compare,  cumpare. 

So  as  to  the  vowel  u:  Unveiled  is  pronounced  ^nveiled;  suppose, 
s'pose;  suspend,  5 /?cnrf;  surrender,  sVe/jrfer,  &c.  It  is  often  pronounc- 
ed as  o.     Undo  is  called  ondo  ;  untie,  ontie,  &c. 

The  following  terminations  are  very  often  pronounced  badly.  Less 
is  pronounced  liss.  Hapless,  hapliss;  sleepless,  sleepliss,  &c.  En  is 
sometimes  pronounced  in,  and  sometimes  the  e  is  entirely  left  out. 
Thus  woollen,  ?coo//m  or  icooVn;  de&kn,  deajin  ot  dcaf'n.  So  with 
cd.     F o]ded,  foldid 

JVess  is  pronounced  niss.  Dampness,  dampniss.  Able  and  ible  are 
pronounced  z/Wc.     Eatable,  ca^uWc;  vendible,  venduble. 

Al  is  read  without  a.  Parental,  porcnf 7  ;  musical,  music  I ;  metal, 
mcVl;  capital,  capiVl;  rebel,  reb'l;  chapel,  chap'l. 

Ent  is  pronounced  unt;  a  very  common  and  vulgar  fault;  moment, 
momunt ;  prudent,  priidunt ;  confiilence ,  conjidunce  ;  silent,  silunt ;  sm- 
them,  anthum  ;  dependent,  dependunt. 

Ing  is  pronounced  in.  It  is  very  common  to  say  for  singing,  5mo7n; 
for  eating,  catin  ;  being,  bein  ;  flying, ^j/m  ;  dancing,  duncin;  resting, 
restin. 

Oic  and  o  are  pronounced  er.  Window,  winder  ;  tobacco,  tobacc-er  ; 
fellow,  feller  ;  widow,  tcidder  ;  follow,  f oiler  ;  moXto,  m otter. 

Ance,  cncy  are  pronounced  unce,  nncy.  Acquaintance,  acquain- 
tuncc;  abhorrence,  abhor ru nee;  confidence,  confidunce ;  assistance,  oj- 
sistunce. 

Ive  is  pronounced  long  instead  of  short,  like  I  in  try,  instead  of  like 
?  in  r^vet.     Thus  native  is  made  native  ;  missive,  missive. 

Elis  pronounced  without  the  c.  Novel,  nov'l ;  model,  mod'l;  vei' 
Bel,  vess'l;  gravel,  grav  I ;  level,  Zcr'Z. 

Aiti  is  pronounced  without  the  ai.     Fountain,  founCn,  &c. 

On  is  pronounced  without  the  o.     Lotion,  losfiv,  &.z. 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND  SPEAKERS.         9 

Ine  is  pronounced  with  i  as  in  vine,  instead  of  i  as  in  pin :  engine^ 
Slc.  ;  r  at  the  end  of  a  word  is  often  pronounced  lilce  lo.  War,  waw,  &c. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  often  put  in  where  it  ought  not  to  be.  Law, 
lor  ;  draw,  draw-r  ;  idea,  idea-r. 

H after  w  is  often  omitted.  What,  wat;  when,  wen;  whale,  wale; 
wheel,  icceZ;  whisper ,  wisper  ;  white,  wite;  wheat,  iccat. 

JfUrn  in  the  middle  of  a  word  is  changed  to  u.  Government,  govu- 
ment. 

The  pupil  should  be  careful  not  to  make  his  pronunciation  affected, 
by  carrying  this  observance  of  the  orthography  too  far,  so  as  to  tres- 
pass upon  the  settled  usage  of  our  language.  Even,  we  pronounce 
fiVn'j  open,  op'n;  heaven,  heav'n;  but  in  some  parts  of  the  country 
they  say,  pvrun,  op-uji,  h^av-un,  which  is  wrong,  &c. 

O"  The  habit  of  remarking  these  errors  of  pronunciation,  is  one  of 
the  surest  methods  of  avoiding  them. 

3.  Pay  careful  attention  to  the  tone  of  your 
voice. 

The  importance  of  this  suggestion  can  hardly  be  overrated.  Sight 
is  the  most  active  of  the  senses,  but  the  ear  is  the  most  common  and 
ready  instrument  of  exciting  emotion.  It  is  on  this  principle,  that 
music  acquires  its  power  over  us ;  a  shriek  or  eroan  excites  more  im- 
mediate and  deep  interest  than  any  spectacle  whatever.  The  dying 
struggles  of  a  fish  move  us  but  slightly,  while  the  piteous  bleating  of 
a  lamb  reaches  the  heart  at  once.  It  is  so  even  with  animals  ;  the  cry 
of  distress  from  any  one  of  them  seems  to  rouse  the  attention  of  all 
others,  even  of  different  kinds,  while  they  look  with  indifference  upon 
the  dying  agonies  of  one  of  their  own  race. 

The  reader  or  speaker,  then,  addresses  himself  to  an  organ  which  is 
p.  powerful  instrument  for  moving  the  heart.  The  tone  of  his  voice 
thus  becomes  a  subject  of  the  utmost  importance.  If  it  is  disagree- 
able, harsh,  nasal,  whining,  or  in  any  other  way  offensive,  it  causes 
aversion  in  the  listener,  while  the  object  is  to  win  his  attention.  Nor 
is  it  enough  merely  to  avoid  a  disagreeable  tone.  The  speaker  should 
so  manage  and  modulate  his  voice  as  to  excite  feelings  consonant  to 
the  sentiment  addressed  to  his  hearers  ;  —  in  other  words,  the  tones  of 
the  voice  should  be  so  modulated  a§  to  sait  the  thought,  passion,  or 
feeling  conveyed  in  the  words  he  utters. 

The  conimou  modifications  of  the  voice  in  speaking  are  four,  the 
vwnotoxie,  the  rising  ivjlcction,  the  falling  inflection,  and  the  circuwflex. 

4.  The  monotone  is  to  be  used  in  passages  of 
dignity,  where  the  strain  of  sentiment  is  uniform. 

Monotone  is  a  sameness  of  sound,  and  in  this  application  means  a 
uniformity  of  voice.  If  you  will  read  the  following  passage,  from 
IWilton,  in  this  manner,  you  will  see  that  it  suits  the  subject,  and  im- 
parts dignity  to  the  verse. 

"  High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  or  of  Ind  ) 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat." 


10  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

5.  The  rising  inflection  may  be  noticed  in  the 
direct  interrogative. 

An  inflection  is  a  bending  of  the  voice  from  a  higher  to  a  lower,  or 
from  a  lower  to  a  liigiier,  key.  When  you  ask  tlie  question,  Who 
made  tins  jicn?  you  will  observe  that  there  is  a  rising  of  the  voice  at 
the  end  of  the  sentence.  So  in  the  following :  Is  not  this  the  carpen- 
ter's son  ?  Is  not  his  mother  called  Mary  .'  Is  it  not  wrong  to  slan- 
der another  ?  Is  it  better  to  steal  a  man's  purse  than  to  steal  his  fair 
fame  ?     Can  this  little  bird  sing .' 

6.  The  falling  inflection  is  perceived  in  answer- 
ing a  question. 

Suppose  you  answer  one  of  the  preceding  questions ;  you  will 
observe  that  the  voice  falls  to  a  lower  key  at  the  end  of  the  sentence, 
as,  I  made  the  pen.  It  is  wrong  to  slander  another.  This  little  bird 
can  sing. 

7.  The  circumflex   is    an   union  of  the  rising 
and  falling  inflections. 

This  is  chiefly  used  where  the  language  is  designed  to  express  doubt 
or  irony.  Hume  said  lie  would  go  twenty  miles  to  hear  iVhitejidd 
preach.  This  was  spoken  in  such  a  manner  as  to  imply,  that  he  would 
give  himself  no  trouble  to  hear  any  other  preacher.  In  order  to  do 
this,  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  double  inflection  in  speaking  the  word 
/r/uic^cZd,  first  bending  the  voice  downward  and  then  upward,  upon 
that  word.  This  mode  of  speaking  implied  a  sneer  at  other  pteachers. 
If  you  ask  a  physician  about  your  friend  who  is  dangerously  ill,  and 
receive  for  an  answer.  He  is  better,  you  will  understand  his  answer  ac- 
cording to  the  manner  !n  which  the  word  better  is  spoken.  If  there  is 
no  bending  of  the  voice  in  the  expression  of  that  word,  the  answer  is 
decidedly  favorable  ;  but  if  the  voice  bends  first  downward  upon  the 
first  part  of  the  word,  and  upward  upon  the  last,  you  understand  the 
physician  to  express  doubt,  as  if  he  were  to  say,  He  is  better,  but  still 
dangerously  ill, 

8.  Upon  these  inflections  of  the  voice,  much  of 
the  spirit  and  efficacy  of  speaking,  depends. 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  give  any  rules  which  may  teach  the  art  of 
modulating  the  voice  with  skill  and  propriety.  It  is  best  acquired  by 
observing  go  d  speakers,  and  seeking  the  society  of  well-educated 
people.  It  is  important  for  the  pupil,  however,  to  have  his  attention 
drawn  to  the  subject,  and  these  rules  are  laid  down  with  that  view. 
At  first,  the  pupil  may  hardly  be  able  to  distinguish  these  several  mod- 
ifications of  the  voice,  but  a  little  observation  will  enable  him  to  trace 
them  in  others,  and  at  last,  in  himself  To  make  what  has  been  sai'l 
more  distiactly  understood,  the  following  examples  are  offered. 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND  SPEAKERS.   H 

Example  in  which  the  monotone  is  to  he  used, 
««  Seen  through  yon  time-worn  arch,  the  parting  sun 
Rests  like  a  weary  hunter  on  the  brow 
Of  the  far  western  hills,  —  and  there  lingering, 
To  mark  the  silent  flight  of  his  last  arrow 
Through  the  liqi<iid  air." 

Examples,  in  which  the  rising  and  falling  inflections  are  to  he  used , 
the  first  in  the  question,  and  the  latter  in  the  answer. 

What  would  content  you  ?  Talent?  No  !  Enterprise  ?  No  !  Courage  ? 
No  !  Reputation  ?  No  !  Virtue  ?  No ! 

Are  you  ignorant  of  many  things  which  it  highly  concerns  you  to 
know  ?  The  Gospel  offers  you  instruction.  Have  you  deviated  from 
the  path  of  duty  ?  The  Gospel  offers  you  forgiveness.  Do  tempta- 
tions surround  you  ?  The  Gospel  offers  you  the  aid  of  heaven.  Are 
you  exposed  to  misery  ?  It  consoles  you.  Are  you  subject  to  death  ? 
It  offers  you  immortality. 

9.  Beware  of  false  modulation,  monotony,  and 
mannerism. 

A  raising  or  lowering  of  the  voice  improperly,  is  to  be  avoided,  be- 
cause either  would  mar  the  sense.  Monotony  deprives  speaking  of 
its  spirit  and  interest.  If  the  painter  were  to  use  but  one  color,  his  art 
would  be  entirely  deprived  of  its  power.  In  music,  a  constant  drawling 
out  of  the  same  note  would  be  intolerable.  It  is  the  same  with  read- 
ing or  speaking.  You  must  vary  the  voice  according  to  the  sentiment ; 
but  be  careful  not  to  run  into  the  opposite  extreme,  a  merely  mechan- 
ical modulation,  which  may  be  called  mannerism.  This  arises  from 
thinking  wholly  or  mainly  of  the  enunciation  of  the  words,  without 
feeling  or  appreciating  the  ideas  they  convey.  Keep  in  mind,  there- 
fore, that  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  are  what  you  wish  to  transfer 
to  the  breasts  of  your  listeners,  and  the  voice  the  vehicle  by  which 
they  are  to  be  conveyed. 

10.  Be  careful  of  the  pitch  of  your  voice. 

The  pitch  of  voice  has  relation  to  that  high  or  low  note  which 
prevails  in  a  spoken  discourse.  It  is  obvious,  that,jif  this  is  too  high, 
when  the  speaker  has  occasion  to  raise  the  pitch,  his  voice  will  become 
squeaking  or  will  break  ;  if  too  low,  it  will  become  disagreeable  or  in- 
audible. The  proper  pitch  to  adopt  in  reading  or  speaking,  is  that  be- 
tween the  upper  and  lower,  called  the  middle  pitch.  It  is  that  which 
we  adopt  in  earnest  conversation. 

It  may  be  remarked,  that  low  tones  are  the  most  solemn,  and  high 
ones  the  most  animated.  But  the  former  are  the  least  penetrating. 
When,  therefore,  you  are  speaking  to  a  large  audience,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  raise  the  pitch  of  your  voice  in  order  to  be  heard.  Regard 
must  be  always  had,  in  speaking,  to  the  circumstances  in  which  you 
are  placed.  It  is  a  safe  rule,  always  to  proportion  your  voice  to  the  ex- 
lent  of  the  room  and  the  number  of  your  audience,  so  that  each  per- 
son may  hear  without  effort. 


1-2  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

11.  Be  attentive  to  the  transitions  of  the  voice. 

This  rule  requires  attention  in  altering  the  voice,  as  the  senti- 
ment of  what  you  are  uttering,  changes ;  and  this  change  must  be  sud- 
den or  gradual,  according  to  the  sense. 

12.  Be  careful  to  accent  your  words  properly. 

Accent  is  the  stress  laid  upon  a  particular  part  of  a  word ;  as  in 
Boston,  the  accent  is  upon  the  first  syllable. 

13.  Be  attentive  to  emphasisi 

Emphasis  is  the  stress  laid  upoli  certain  words  in  a  sentence,  tts 
use  is  to  press  certain  ideas  forcibly  upon  the  mind.  It  was  formerly 
the  custom  to  print  many  emphatic  words  in  italic,  but  this  is  general- 
ly abandoned.  The  rules  which  govern  emphasis  are  not  arbitrary  , 
they  depend  upon  feeling,  and  must  be  left  to  the  taste  of  the  speaker. 
If  you  read  or  speak  naturally,  with  a  lively  interest  in  what  you  ut- 
ter, your  emphasis  will  be  correct.  Children,  in  the  ardor  of  their 
sports,  are  good  models  in  this  respect. 

14.  Be  careful  of  your  pauses. 

The  common  grammatical  pauses  are  denoted  by  the  comma,  semi- 
colon, colon,  period,  &c.  The  common  rule  in  respect  to  these  is,  to 
pause  at  the  comma  as  long  as  to  say  one  ;  at  a  semicolon,  as  long  as 
to  count  one,  two  ;  at  a  colon,  as  long  as  to  count  one,  two,  three,  «Skc. 

This  rule,  however,  is  not  inflexible,  for  the  taste  of  the  reader  will 
sometimes  point  out  the  propriety  of  shorter  or  longer  pauses.  There 
are  cases,  indeed,  in  which,  for  rhetorical  effect,  the  speaker  will 
make  much  longer  pauses  than  the  common  rule  prescribes. 

15.  Make  a  proper  .distinction  between  narra- 
tive and  representation. 

There  is  a  great  difference  betweeh  telling  what  was  said  by  a  man, 
and  introducing  tliat  man  to  speak  for  himself.  If  you  were  to  say, 
that  "  Jesus  inquired  of  Simon,  son  of  Jonas,  whether  he  loved  him," 
it  would  be  narrative  ;  but  if  you  say  that  "  Jesus  said,  '  Simon,  son  of 
Jonas,  lovest  thou  me?  "  '  it  is  representation.  When,  therefore,  you 
represent  another  as  speaking,  you  must  alter  your  voice  so  that  it  may 
be  adapted  to  the  character.  This  rule  applies  also  in  reading  dia- 
logue or  dramatic  pieces.  When  you  represent,  or  speak  for,  the  sev- 
eral characters,  you  must  speak  in  a  tone  and  manner  suited  to  each. 

16.  Poetry  must  be  read  with  a  careful  atten- 
tion to  punctuation,  and  with  due  regard  to  meas- 
ure and  rhyme. 

The  voice,  too,  must  be  adapted  in  its  tone  to  the  delicacy  and  el- 
evation of  sentiment,  of  which  poetry  is  usually  the  vehicle.     Empha- 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND  SPEAKERS.   13 

8*13  and  accent,  loo,  must  be  carefully  regarded,  in  reading  poetry,  with 
a  view  clearly  to  exhibit  the  sense. 

17.  Be  attentive  to  action. 

Rhetorical  action  includes  attitude,  gesture,  and  expression  of  face. 
These  are  important  to  the  speaker.  His  attitude  should  be  easy,  nat- 
ural, and  graceful ;  his  gestures  free,  but  expressive  ,  his  countenance 
should  be  adapted  to  the  sentiment  of  what  he  utters.  The  latter  ap- 
plies also  to  the  reader.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  read  a  gay  and  live- 
ly piece  with  a  long  and  solemn  countenance,  or  a  solemn  piece  with 
smiles  upon  the  face.  But  the  reader  has  occasion  to  make  few  or  no 
gestures;  he  should,  however,  stand  in  an  easy  posture,  with  his 
breast  thrown  forward,  so  as  to  give  free  play  to  his  lungs. 

18.  Make   yourself  master   of    the   sense   of 
everything  you  read. 

The  object  of  silent  reading  is  to  acquire  ideas  ;  of  oral  reading,  to 
communicate  them  to  others.  If  you  pass  a  sentence  without  under- 
standing it,  in  silent  or  oral  reading,  you  miss  the  very  object  of  read- 
ing in  the  first  case,  and  in  the  latter  have  little  chance  of  communi- 
cating well  to  others,  the  sense  of  that  which  you  donot  yourself  com- 
prehend. It  is  important  to  establish  the  inflexible,  persevering  habit, 
of  mastering  everything  you  read. 

19.  Study  into  the  precise  meaning  of  words. 

It  is  well  for  a  learner  to  make  it  a  fixed  principle,  never  to  pass  a 
word  without  knowing  its  meaning;  and  for  this  reason,  he  should  al- 
ways keep  a  Dictionary  at  hand. 

But  there  is  a  simple  and  easy  etymological  analysis  of  words, 
tending  to  unfold  their  force  and  signification,  which  maybe  carried  to 
a  considerable  extent  by  those  who  have  no  acquaintance  with  the  sev- 
eral languages  of  which  our  English  language  is  compounded.  It 
may  not  be  convenient  for  all  teachers  to  introduce  these  exercises  into 
their  schools ;  but,  for  the  advantage  of  those  who  may  be  able  to  use 
them,  I  will  insert  a  brief  list  of  such  exercises  as  I  allude  to.  Oswald's 
"Etymological  Dictionary"  will  enable  the  reader  to  pursue  these 
studies  thoroughly. 

In  the  first  place  it  must  be  perceived,  that  a  large  portion  of  our 
words  are  compounded  of  words  which  are  called  roots,  and  other  words 
called  prefixes  or  affixes.  The  root  contains  the  main  sense  of  the 
word,  and  the  prefix  or  affix  is  used  to  modify  its  signification.  Thus 
the  word  deject  is  composed  of  the  root  ject,  from  the  Latin  jacio, 
to  throw,  to  cast,  and  the  prefix  de,  which  signifies  down;  together, 
the  compound  word  deject  signifies  to  cast  down.  This  is  the  literal 
sense,  though  the  word  is  applied  metaphorically  to  the  mind.  Duck- 
ling consists  of  the  root  duck  and  ling,  the  latter  affix  being  from  the 
Saxon,  and  signifying  young  or  little  ;  the  word  duckling,  therefore ,  sig- 
nifies a  T/owno-  duck.  So  gosling  signifies  a  young  goose;  hirdling  a 
young  or  little  bird,  &c.    In  the  first  place,  I  propose  to  give  a  list  of 

2 


14  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

the  principal  prefixes,  which  are  small  words  prefixed  to  roots  ;  then  a 
list  of  affixes,  which  are  appended  to  roots  ;  and  then  a  few  of  the  roots 
most  extensively  used.  My  design  is  rather  to  suggest  inquiry  into 
this  subject,  than  to  give  the  means  of  pursuing  it  thoroughly <  If  a 
pupil  Will  get  interested  in  it,  he  will  pursue  it  with  eagerness. 

The  utility  of  such  a  study,  as  is  here  proposed,  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact,  that  the  understanding  of  a  single  prefix  or  affix  may 
unlock  the  meaning  of  hundreds  of  other  words ;  the  understanding 
of  a  single  root  will  also  explain  many  words.  The  small  vocabulary 
of  roots  nercafler  given,  furnishes  the  basis  of  several  thousand  words 
in  our  language. 


PREFIXES. 


A,  signifies  on,  in,  to,  or  at :  as,  afoot',  on  foot  ;  abed',  in  bed  ;  afield',  to 
the  field  ;  afar,  at  a  great  distance. 

Ab,  signifies  fro7n  or  away  :  as,  aibre'viate,  to  make  short  from ;  ab- 
solve',  to  loose  from. 

Abs,  sio^nifies  from  or  away  :  as,  abstain',  to  hold  from. 

Ad,  and  the  forms  it  assumes,  signifies  to  :  as,  adhere',  to  stick  to. 

Ac,  for  AD,  signifies  to  :  as,  accede',  for  adcede',  to  yield  to,  to  come  to, 
to  agree  or  assent. 

Af,  for  AD,  signifies  to  :  as,  «/fix',  for  atffix',  to  fix  to. 

At,  for  AD,  signifies  to  :  as,  n/tracl',  for  attract',  to  draw  to  ;  atteat',  to 
bear  witness  to. 

Ante,  signifies  before  :  as,  an^cce'dent,  going  before. 

Anti,  signifies  opposite  to,  against  :  as,  anftchris'lian,  opposite  to  Christi- 
anity ;   antiwc'tic,  against,  or  opposite  to,  the  north,  (soutliern.) 

Be,  signifies  to  make  :  as,  iccalin',  to  make  calm  ;  6efoul',  to  make  foul  ; 
Acdeck',  to  deck. 

CiRCUM,  signifies  about  or  round  :  as,  circumvent',  to  come  round  about, 
(to  cheat.) 

Con  (cum),  and  the  shapes  it  takes,  —  co,  cog,  col,  com,  cor,  signifies 
together  or  tvith  :  as,  concussi'on,  a  shaking  together;  conform',  to  comply 
unth. 

Co,  for  con,  signifies  together  or  vfith  :  as,  coop'erate,  for  con-op'erate,  to 
work  with  or  together. 

Col,  for  con,  signifies  together  or  with  :  as,  co/lect',  for  conlect',  to  gather 
together. 

Com,  for  con,  signifies  together  or  with  :  as,  commo'tion,  for  conmo'tion,  a 
moving  together ;  coT/ipassi'on,  for  conpasei'on,  suffering  or  feeling  with 
(another). 

Cor,  for  con,  signifies  together  or  with  :  as,  corrob'orate,  for  conrob'orate, 
to  make  strong  together  j  correlative,  for  conrel'alive,  relative  with. 

Contra,  signifies  against :  as,  con^adict',  to  say  or  speak  against. 

Counter,  for  contra,  signifies  against :  as,  counfcrbal'ance,  to  balance 
agai7ist. 

De,  signifies  down  or  from  :  as,  deject',  to  cast  down  ;  depart',  to  part  or 
go  from. 

Dis,  signifies  take  from,  away,  off,  or  out  ;  not,  implying  privation,  nega- 
tion, or  undoing :  as,  disarm',  to  take  arms  from ;  disor'der,  to  take  away 


HINTS    TO    READERS    AND    SPEAKERS.       15 

order  ;  disco\'er,  to  take  off  the  cover  ;  rfisinter',  to  take  out  of  the  earth  or 
grave  ;  rfiibelieve'',  not  to  believe. 

Dl,  for  Dis,  signifies  asunder :  as,  rfisperse',  to  scatter  asunder. 

En,-  em,  signifies  in,  into,  or  on  :  to  make  :  as,  encamf/^  to  form  into  a 
camp  ;  enthrone',  to  place  on  a  throne  ;   ena'ble,  to  make  able. 

Em,  for  EN,  signifies  to  make  :  as  embel'lish,  to  make  beautiful  ;  cmpow'er, 
to  give  power  to. 

Ex,  signifies  out,  out  of :  as,  ca^clude',  to  shut  otU  ;  ca;tend  ,  to  stretch  out, 

E,  contracted  for  ex,  signifies  oiU,  out  of  :  as,  emit',  to  send  out;  educe',  to 
bring  out. 

Extra,  signifies  beyond :  as,  extraor'd'mary,  beyond  ordinary. 

Fore,  signifies  before  :  as,  /orerun'ner,  one  who  runs  before  ;  foresee',  to 
see  before. 

Hyper  signifies  above,  over  or  beyond  :  as,  hyperergic,  a  critic  exact 
over  or  beyond  (use  or  reason.) 

Hypo,  signifies  under  :  as,  hypolWesis,  a  placing  under,  (a  system  formed 
under  some  principle  not  proved.) 

Im,  for  IN,  (Saxon,)  signifies  to  make:  as,  imhit'ter,  to  make  bitter; 
mpov'erish,  to  make  poor. 

In,  (Latin,)  and  the  forms  it  assumes,  —  il,  im,  ir,  before  a  verb,  signifies 
in  or  into,  on  or  upon  :  as  inject',  to  throw  in  or  into  j  inoc'ulate,  to  make  an 
eye  on  or  upon. 

Il,  for  IN,  signifies  in  or  on  :  as,  I'flu'minate,  to  make  or  put  light  in,  (to 
enlighten.) 

Im,  for  IN,  signifies  in  or  into,  on  or  upon  :  as,  import',  to  carry  in  or 
into  ;  impose',  to  place  on  or  upon. 

Ir,  for  IN,  signifies  in  or  on  :  as,  irra'diate,  to  make  rays  on  or  upon,  (to 
illuminate.) 

In,  and  the  forms  it  assumes,  —  ig,  il,  im,  ir,  l)efore  an  adjective,  signifies 
not,  implying  negation,  privation,  or  want  :  as  in^finite,  not  finite,  (or  without 
bounds.) 

Ig,  for  IN,  signifies  not  :  as,  igno'ble,  not  noble. 

Il,  for  IN,  signifies  not  :  as,  i/le'gal,  not  legal. 

Im,  for  IN,  signifies  not,  implying  negation,  privation,  or  want:  as,  im- 
mor'tal,  not  mortal,  (or  not  liable  to  death.) 

Ir,  for  IN,  signifies  not  :  as,  irrati'onal,  not  rational. 

Inter,  signifies  between  or  among  :  as,  interpose',  to  place  between  ;  in- 
termix', to  mix  among  or  between. 

Intro,  signifies  within  :  as,  introduce',  to  lead  or  bring  within, 

JuxTA,  signifies  near  to  :  as,_;Ma?/apositi'on,  the  being  placed  near  to  (any 
thing). 

Mis,  signifies  ill,  error,  or  defect,  marking  an  ill,  false,  or  wrong  sense:  as, 
Tniscon'duct,  ill  conduct  ;  miibelie'ver,  one  who  holds  a  false  religion,  or  be- 
lieves wrongly  ;  miiapply',  to  apply  to  a  wrong  purpose. 

Ob,  and  the  shapes  it  takes,  —  oc,  of,  op,  signifies  in  the  way,  against,  out: 
as,  o6ject',  to  cast  in  the  way,  or  against  ;  o6'solete,  grown  out  (of  use). 

Out,  signifies  beyond,  denoting  excess  or  superiority  :  as,  owdive',  to  live 
beyond. 

Over,  signifies  above  or  over,  too  high  or  much,  implying  eminence  or  su- 
periority, more  than  enough  :  as,  overflow',  to  flow  of cr  or  above  j  overcharge', 
to  charge  too  high  or  too  much, 

Para,  signifies  side  by  side,  beside,  near  to,  like  or  similar  :  as,  par'ahle,  a 
putting  a  thing  side  by  side,  or  beside  another,  (to  make  a  comparison  or  si- 
militude,  or  likening  spiritual  things  to  temporal  or  external  objects.) 

Per,  signifies  through,  or  thoroughly  :  as,  pervade',  to  go  through  ;  peren'- 
nial  (lasting),  through  the  year  ;  pe/iecl^  thoroughly  done. 


16  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Post,  signifies  after  :  as.pos/'script,  a  thing  writtea  after. 

Pre  (pRjI:),  signifies  hcfort :  as,  predict'  to  say  or  tell  before  J  predi^,  to 
fix  before  ;  /weciir'sor,  one  who  runs  before. 

Preter  (PR  JETER),  signifies  beyond  or  past :  as,  jjrcfernat'ural,  beyond 
the  course  of  nature  ;  prti'terite,  past. 

Pro,  signifies  for,  forward,  forth,  or  otU  :  as,  prox'y  (for  procuracy),  an 
agent  for  another  (or  one  who  acts  for  another)  ;  jwoceed',  to  go  forward  J 
proyoke',  to  call  forth  ;  proclaim',  to  cry  out. 

Rk,  signifies  back  or  again,  anew  :  as,  recall',  to  call  back  ;  rcan'imate  to 
life  again  ;  remorse',  a  biting  back;  redeem',  to  buy  back  (by  paying  a  price); 
recommence',  to  begin  anew. 

Retro,  signifies  backwards  :  as,  re/'rograde,  going  backwards  step  by 
Blep. 

Se,  signifies  aside,  apart,  or  without  :  as,  secede',  to  go  aside  or  apart  J 
•educe',  to  lead  aside. 

Sine,  signifies  without  :  as,  sincere' ,  toithojtt  wax  or  mixture  (honest)  ; 
jim'pie,  without  a  fold. 

Sub,  and  the  forms  it  assumes,  —  sue,  suf,  sug,  sup,  signifies  under  or 
afler,  implying  a  subordinate  degree:  as,  *u6scribe  ,  to  write  under  J  snb'se' 
quent,  following  under  or  after  ;  »t<6bea'dle,  under  beadle. 

Sue,  for  si;b,  signifies  under,  up  :  as,  succeed',  to  go  or  come  under  or 
after  (also  to  prosper)  ;   suc'cour,  to  run  up  (to  help.) 

SuF,  for  SUB,  signifies  under:  as,  insu/"'ferabie,  tliat  cannot  be  borne 
under  or  with. 

Sup,  for  sub,  signifies  under,  up:  as,  suppress',  to  press  under;  sup- 
port',  to  bear  up. 

SuBTER,  signifies  under  or  beneath:  as,  siii'^erfuge,  a  flying  under  or 
beneath,  (a  shift.) 

Super,  signifies  above  or  over,  more  than  enough:  as,  superadd',  to  add 
over  or  above  ;  super\\'sov,  one  who  looks  over  (an  overseer)  ;  super'fluous, 
flowing  more  than  enough,  (unnecessary.) 

SuR,  signifies  above,  over,  upon  :  as,  4T*rmount',  to  rise  abort ;  survive',  to 
live  above  or  after. 

Trans,  signifies  across,  over,  or  beyond,  through,  change  from  one  place 
to  another  :  as,  transgress',  to  go  over  or  beyond  ;  <ra?ispa'rent,  appearing 
through  (clear)  ;   transform' ,  to  change  the  form. 

Ultra,  signifies  beyond  :  as,  u/^ramon'tane,  beyond  tlie  mountain. 

Un,  before  a  verb,  signifies  to  take  off,  deprive  of,  implying  undoing  or  de- 
stroying :   as,  undress',  to  take  off  clothes  ;   uncrown',  to  deprive  of  a  crown. 

Un,  before  an  adjective,  signifies  not,  implying  negation  or  privation  :  as, 
una'ble,  not  able  ;   unblem'ished,  not  blemished,  or  free  from  reproach. 

Under,  signifies  beneath  or  under,  denoting  subordination  or  inferiority  : 
as,  un'c/er-clerk,  beneath,  or  subordinate  to,  the  principal  clerk. 

With,  signifies  from  or  against  :  as,  withdraw',  to  draw  from. 

AFFIXES. 

Ac,  signifies  of  or  belonging  to  :  as,  demo'niac,  belonging  to  the  devil. 

Ance,  denotes  being,  or  state  of  being,  or  (simply),  *  ing'  :  as  vig'ilance, 
state  of  being  vigilant,  or  watchmg  ;  sub'stancc,  standmg  under,  or  state  of 
being  substantial. 

Ant,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that :  as,  assist'anr,  one  who,  or  the 
person  that  assists  ;   va'grant,  one  who  wanders. 

Ant,  signifies  being,  or  '  ing  : '  as,  abun'danf,  abound'ing^  ,*  dor'man/, 
sleeping  ;   pleas'on/,  plea'sm^, 

Ard,  denotes  one  who  :  as,  drunk'arrf,  one  who  is  drunken. 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND  SPEAKERS.       17 

Ary,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that  :  as,  em'issary,  one  who  is  sent 
out  (secretly)  ;  Wtary,  owe  devoted,  or  the  person  that  is  devoted  (to  any 
thing). 

Ary,  denotes  the  place  where,  or  the  thing  that :  as,  Vi'hr ary,  the  place  where 
books  are  kept  ;  n'viary,  the  place  where  birds  are  kept,  (or  the  thing  that 
keeps  birds  in.) 

Ary,  signifies  belonging,  relating,  or  pertaining  to,  befitting  :  as,  ar1)or- 
ary,  belonging  to  trees  ;  lit'erary,  relating  to  literature  or  letters  ;  parliamen'- 
tary,  pertaining  to  parliament. 

Ate,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that :  as,  grad'ua/e,  one  who  obtains  a 
degree  (at  college)  ;  ad'vocofe,  one  who,  or  the  person  that  pleads  (the  cause 
of  another). 

Xt^,  AenoiGs  having,  being :  as,  \i\^n'\mate ,  having  no  life;  affec'tionafc, 
having  aftection  ;   ad'equa^e,  being  equal  to  ;   sit'ua/e,  being  placed  (on). 

Ate,  denotes  to  make,  to  give,  to  put,  or  to  take  :  as,  ren'oxate,  to  make  new 
again  ;  frus'tra^e,  to  make  vain  ;  sm^imate,  to  give  life  ;  invig'oraff,  to  put 
vigor  in  or  into  ;  exon'era^e,  to  lake  the  burden  from  or  out. 

Ee,  denotes  one  who  :  as,  absentee',  one  who  is  absent  ;  patentee',  one  who 
has  a  patent. 

Eer,  signifies  one  who,  or  the  person  that  :  as,  mountaineer',  one  who  dwells 
on  or  amid  mountains,  (a  Highlander.) 

Ence,  denotes  being  or  state  of  being,  or  '  ing  '  :  as,  abhoi-'rencc,  state  of 
being  abhorrent,  or  abhorrm^  ;  adhe'rcwce,  stickmg-  to,  or  state  of  being  ad- 
herent. 

Ekt,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that :  as,  depo'neni,  one  who  puts  or 
lays  down  (evidence)  ;   paftient,  one  who,  or  the  person  that  suffers. 

Er,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that  :  as,  ba'ker,  one  who  bakes  ;  vls'- 
iter,  one  who,  or  the  person  that  visits  ;  wid'ower,  one  who,  or  the  person  that 
has  lost  his  wife. 

FuL,  denotes  full  of  :  as,  hopeful,  full  of  hope  ;  awful,  full  of  awe  ; 
plen'ti/u/,  full  of  plenty. 

Fy,  denotes  to  make  :  as,  mag'ni/j/  to  make  great  ;  sanc'ti/y,  to  make  holy; 
pu'ri/y,  to  make  pure. 

Hood,  denotes  the  state  of :  as,  hoy'hood,  the  state  of  a  boy. 

Ic,  denotes  of,  belonging,  relating,  or  pertaining  to  :  as,  academ'ic,  of  or 
belonging  to  an  academy  ;  angel'ic,  relating  to  angels  ;  ocean'ic,  pertaining  to 
the  ocean. 

Ile,  denotes  belonging  to,  may  or  can  be,  easily  :  as,  pu'eri7c,  belonging  to 
a  boy  ;   flex'j7e,  that  may  or  can  be  bent,  or  easily  bent. 

Ine,  denotes  of  or  belonging  to  :  as,  ma'rme,  of  or  belonging  to  the  sea  ; 
ca'nme,  belonging  to  dogs  ;   fen/inme,  of  or  belonging  to  the  female. 

Ion,  denotes  act  of,  state  of  being,  or  '  ing  '  :  as,  contribu'tion,  the  act  of 
contributing  or  givmo'  together  ;  collis'ion,  the  act  q/"  striking  together  ;  sub- 
ordina'tion,  state  of  being  subordinate  or  inferior;  dissolu'tior/.,  a  dissolving  (a 
loosing  asunder)  ;  cohe'sion,  a  stickmo'  together  ;  commo'tion,  a  moving-  to- 
gether, (a  tumult.) 

IsH,  denotes  belonging  to,  like  or  resembling,  little  of  or  somewhat  :  as, 
Eng'lisA,  belonging  to  England  ;  child'tsA,  like  or  resembling  a  child  ;  green'- 
ish,  little  of  or  somewhat  green. 

ISiM,  (Gr.)  denotes  state  of  being,  an  idiom,  or  doctrine  of :  as,  par'alleli^m, 
state  of  being  parallel;  Lat'inis/n,  a  Latin  idiom  j  Cal'vini«77i,  doctrine  of 
Calvin. 

1st,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that :  as,  bot'ani»<,  one  who  studies  bot- 
any or  plants  ;  the'ori«r,  one  ivho,  or  the  person  that  theorizes  or  speculates  ; 
oc  uli«/,  one  wlio  cures  eyes. 


18  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

Ite,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that :  as,  Le'vi^c,  one  who  is  descended 
firom  Levi  ;   fa'vorUe,  one  who,  or  the  person  that  is  favored. 

IVE,  denotes  having  power,  that  can,  or  '  ing,^  implying  power,  ability.  Of 
activity  :  as,  persua'siVc,  having  power  to  persuade  ;  correc''ui;f,  that  can  cor- 
rect ;   progres'stt'c,  going  forward. 

IZE,  —  ISE,  denotes  to  make,  to  give  :  as,  cWiMze,  to  make  civil  ;  fer'tilp 
ire,  to  make  fruitful  ;  char'actericc,  to  give  a  character  ;  au'thorize,  to  givf 
authority. 

Less,  denotes  tmthout,  having  no,  or  wanting  :  as,  ari'less,  without  art  J 
{atWerless,  without  a  father  ;   he)p'/e**,  having  no  power,  or  wanting  power, 

Like,  denotes  like  or  resembling  :  as,  lUAn'like,  like  or  resembling  man. 

Ling,  (sometimes  Ll>',)  denotes  little,  young  :  ^os'ling,  a  young  goose. 

•Ly  (contraction  for  like),  postfixed  to  nouns,  denotes  like  or  resemblitf.g  f 
as,  hvolWerty,  like  or  resembling  a  brother  ;  earth'/y,  like  or  resembling  eartli; 
win'ter/y,  like  winter. 

Me>'T,  denotes  being  or  state  of  being,  act  of,  the  thing  that  :  as,  abase'- 
ment,  being  abased,  or  state  of  being  abased  ;  conceal'mcrU,  act  of  conceal- 
ing ;   refresh'mcTi/,  the  thing  that  refreshes. 

J\ess,  denotes  a  being  or  stale  of  being,  or  quality  of  being  :  as,  bar'ren- 
ness,  a  being  barren  ;  bles'sedncss,  state  of  being  blessed  ;  goft'ne*^,  the  qual- 
ity of  being  soft. 

Or,  denotes  one  who,  or  the  person  that  :  as,  doc'tor,  one  who  or  the  person 
that  is  learned  ;   interces'sor,  one  who  intercedes  or  goes  l)eiween. 

Ory,  denotes  of,  belonging,  relating  or  pertaining  to,  '  ing  ' :  as,  prefatory, 
of  or  belonging  to  a  preface  ;  pis'catory,  relating  to  fish  ;  consolatory,  per- 
taining to  consolation  (tending  to  give  comfort)  ;  ad'ulatory,  flattering'. 

OsE,  denotes  full  of :  as,  operose' ,  full  of  labor  ;   verbose^,  full  of  words. 

Ous,  denotes  full  of,  having,  consisting  of,  of  or  belonging  to,  given  to^ 
*  ing  '  ;  as,  dan'gerou^,  full  of  danger  ;  pop'ulous,  full  of  people  ;  longira'- 
anou^,  having  long  hands  ;  cartilag'inoiw,  consisting  of  gristles  ;  binou.?, 
consisting  of  bile  ;  co-eta'neotM,  of  the  same  age  ;  conten'tiou*,  given  to  con- 
tention ;   lanig'erou.*,  bearm^  wool  ;   graminiv'oroits,  eating^  grass. 

Ry,  denotes  a  being,  the  art  of,  the  place  where,  or  property  of:  as,  bra'very, 
a  being  brave  ;  cas'uistry,  the  art  or  science  of  a  casuist  ;  nur'sery,  the 
place  where  young  chililren  or  trees  are  reared. 

Ship,  denotes  office  of,  state  of:  as,  rec'torship,  office  of  a  rector  ;  copart'- 
nership,  state  of  having  equal  shares. 

Some,  denotes  somewhat ,  full  of:  as,  glad'some,  somewhat  glad;  frol'ic- 
some,  full  of  frolics  or  pranks. 

TuDE,  or  DDE,  denotes  being  or  state  of  being  :  as  muVlitude,  being  many; 
BoVic'itude,  state  of  being  anxious. 

Ty,  denotes  being  or  state  of  being  :  as,  brev'i/y,  a  being  short  or  concise  ; 
lax'i/y,  a  being  loose  ;  no\''el/y,  state  of  being  new  (or  unknown  before)  ; 
probabil'ify,  state  of  being  probable. 

Ure,  denotes  the  thing,  state,  power,  or  art  of :  as,  scrip'ture,  the  thing 
written  ;  crcd'ture,  the  thing  created  ;  leg'islature,//ic;)oM^er  that  makes  laws; 
ag'riculturc,  the  art  of  cultivating  fields. 

Ward,  denotes  in  the  direction  of,  or,  lookifig  toward  :  as,  down'ward,  in 
the  direction  of,  or  looking  down  ;   in'ward,  looking  toward  the  inside. 

y ,  denotes  the  being,  state  of  being,  or  '  ing  '  :  as,  hai-'mony,  the  being  har- 
monious ;  jeal'ousy,  the  being  jealous,  or  state  of  being  jealous  ;  con'stancy, 
a  standing  together,  or  state  of  being  constant. 

Y,  denotes  full  of,  covered  with, made  of:  as,  knot'ty,/uZ/  o/"  knots;  flow'ery, 
full  of,  or  covered  with  flowers  ;  horn'y,  made  of  horn. 


mNTS    TO    READERS    AND    SPEAKERS.       19 

ROOTS. 

Anim-us,  the  mind,  or  thinking  principle :  as,  unaniWity,  the  being  of  one 
fnind,  or  oneness  pf  niind. 

AsTR-ON,  c  star ;  as,  astron'omyt  the  laws  or  science  of  the  stars  ;  as'ter- 
Isk,  as'ter\sm,  as'trtiX. 

AvANT,  before,  forward  :  as,  rajj'courier,  one  who  runs  before ;  avant'- 
^uard,  rflnguard',  advance'. 

Beau,  a  man  of  dress,  —  Belle,  a  woman  of  dress  ;  hence,  fair,  beauti- 
ful :  as,  bfatflty^  a  being  fair  or  bearaiful ;  ennAe/Visb,  to  make  beautiful  j 
/beau,  beau'iah,  fceaw-monde',  beau'ty. 

Bene,  good,  well  :  as,  feeracv''olent,  willing,  good,. 

BiNi,  two  by  two  :  Bis,  twice,  two  :  as,  bi'ped,  <M>o-footed,  (anioials.) 

CiED-0,  CKSum,  to  cvt,  to  kill :  as,  incisi''on,  a  cu«ing  in  ;  homficide, 
filling  a  man,  or  one  who  kills  a  roan  ;   su'icirfe,  killing  one's  self. 

Cano,  cantum,  to  sing  :  as,  can'^icle,  a  little  song. 

.C4.PJ-0,  captum,  to  take,  to  take  it),  or  up,  to  hold  or  contain  :  as,  cap't\\e, 
one  taken,  (in  war)  ;  capac'ity,  the  power  of  taking  in  or  containing  ;  eKcep'f 
/ion,  a  facing  out  ;  pevcep'tihle,  tliat  may  be  taken  up  or  in  thoroughly,  or  ob- 
served ;  antic'ipate,  to  take  up  before  ;   partic'ipate,  to  take  a  part  in. 

Caro,       >  flesh  :  as,  inca/nate,  having  put  on  flesh  ;  carmv'orous,  eat- 

Pa.r^is,    5  '"g  flesh. 

Ced-o,  cessum,  to  go,  to  give  up,  to  yield  :  as,  antecedent,  going  before  ; 
interces'sor,  one  who  goes  between  (a  mediator)  ;  acced^,  to  give  up  to,  to 
come  to  ;   proceed',  to  go  forward  ;   recede',  to  go  back. 

PiT-o,  cieo,  to  move  or  stir,  to  call,  to  cite,  to  rouse  or  stir  up :  as,  excUe', 
to  call  out,  to  rouse  ;  resus'ciVate,  to  call  up  again,  to  stir  up  anew. 

Civ-is,  a  citizen,  a  free  rrian  or  woman  of  a  city  or  town  :  as,  ciVil,  be- 
longing to  a  citizen  (polite)  ;  cifil'ity,  a  being  civil,  or  manners  of  citizens. 

Claud-o,  clausum,  to  shut,  to  close  :  as,  coviclu-s'ion ,  a  shutting  together 
(the  close  or  end)  ;   exclude,  to  shut  out  ;    include',  to  shut  in. 

Cor,  cord-is,  the  heart:  as,  con'corrf,  hearts  together,  union  of  hearts 
(agreement)  ;  disWrf,  hearts  asunder,  (disagreement.) 

Corpus,  a  {>ody  :  as,  co/pora\,  belonging  to  the  body  ;  corpo're?i\,  having  a 
body  ;  corps,  a  body  of  soldiers  ;   corpse,  a  dead  body. 

Cred-o,  creditiini,  to  believe,  to  trust  :  as,  cred'ible,  worthy  of  credit  or 
may  be  believed  ;  cred'ulons,  apt  to  believe  ;  cred'it,  belief  o[ or  trust  ;  (honor; 
good  opinion.) 

Crit-es,  to  separate,  to  discriminate,  to  jtidge,  a  judge,  one  who  decides  :  as, 
cnVic,  one  skilled  in  judging  (of  literature)  ;  hypoc'my,  an  assuming  a  fic- 
titious character,  a  feigning  or  dissembling  (in  morality  or  religion). 

CuRA,  care,  concern,  chaj-ge,  a  cure:  as,  si'necure,  (an  ofiice  which  has 
revenue,)  without  employment,  or  care ;  cw'rate,  one  who  has  the  cure  or 
charge  (of  souls  under  another.) 

CuRR-o,  cursum,  to  run  :  as,  incur,  to  run  in  ;  excw/sion,  a  running 
put  ;  precwr'^or,  one  who  runs  before  ;  recw/rence,  a  running  back  ;  suc'- 
cour,  to  run  up  (to  help)  ;   cou'course,  a  running  together. 

CuTi-o,  cussum,  to  shake:  as,  discuss',  to  shake  asunder  (to  examine)  ; 
concuwi'on,  a  shaking  together. 
_  Dic-o,  dictum,  to  speak,  to  say  :  as    henedic't'ion,  a  say\ng  good  (a  bles- 
sing) ;    interdict',  to   say  between    (to  forbid)  ;    preach',  to  speak  publicly 
(upon  sacred  subjects)  ;   predict',  to  say  before,  (to  foretell.) 

Do,  datum,  to  give  :  as,  add,  to  give  to  ;  do'nor,  one  who  gives  ;  edit'i'on, 
a  giv'mg  out  (publication  of  a  book)  ;  da'tive,  (the  case  of  nouns,  denoting 
the  person  to  whom,)  any  thing  is  given. 


20  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Ddbi-us,  doubtful :  as,  mdi^bitahXe,  that  cannot  be  doubted;  indi/biooBf 
not  doubtful. 

Dcc-0,  ductura,  to  bring,  to  lead  :  as,  deduct',  to  bring  down  ;  induced,  to 
bring  in  ;  prodttc'tive,  bringing  forward  ;  seduce',  to  lead  aside  ;  condw'cive, 
/easing  together  ;  duc'tile,  that  may  be  bent  or  dravm  out  into  length. 

E<IU-US,  even,  equal ;  just,  right  :  as,  e^uanim'ity,  evenness  or  equalneaa 
of  mind  ;  ei^'iibVium,  equality  of  weight  ;  e'qidnox,  equal  day  and  night  ; 
e^utValent,  equal  in  value  ;  equitable,  what  is  equal,  just  j  inad'egwate,  not 
equal  to  ;    iaiq'uitoas,  not  equal,  nnjust,  {wicked.) 

Err-0,  to  wander  ;  to  mistake  :  as,  aherra'tion,  the  act  oC wandering  (from 
the  right  or  known  way)  ;   erro'neous,  wandering,  mistaken. 

Faci-o,  factum,  to  make,  to  do,  to  cause,  to  give  :  as,  bene/ac'/or,  one  who 
does  good  ;  male/ac'/or,  one  who  does  evil  ;  manu/ac'/ure,  the  thing  made  by 
the  hand  ;  fact,  a  thing  done  (deed)  ;  effect',  the  thing  made  out  ;  effec'tive, 
having  the  power  to  produce  effects;  e(y>c'/ual,  belonging  to,  or  productive 
of,  efects  ;  perfect,  thoroughly  done  ;  \renef'icen\.,  doing  good  ;  arti/ci'al, 
made  by  art  (opposite  to  natural)  ;  horri/'ic,  causing  horror  ;  proli/'ic, 
making  or  producing  young  {fruitful)  ;  fi'dil,  let  it  be  done  {a  decree)  ;  cer'- 
ti/y,  to  make  sure  ;  (ov'tify,  to  make  strong  ;  tes'ti/y,  to  make  or  bear  wit- 
ness ;   viv'i/y,  to  give  life. 

Fend-o,  fensum,  to  keep  off,  to  strike  :  as,  defend,  to  keep  off^  to  preserve  ; 
offend',  to  strike  against. 

F£R-0,  to  carry,  bear,  or  suffer,  to  bring  :  as,  circumference,  (the  line,) 
carrying  round  ;  sufycr,  to  bear  under  ;  soni/'erous,  g^ii-ing  or  iring^ing  sound; 
\nfe?,  to  bring  on  (to  draw  from)  ;  /e/nle,  fit  to  bear,  or  proper  for  bearing^ 
{fruitful.) 

FiD-ES,  faith,  credit,  trust  :  as,  con^e',  to  trust  together  or  in  {to  trust); 
dif'^rfent,  not  /ruling  ;  in^el,  one  who  does  not  believe  or  credit  {an  unfce- 
liever)  ;  per^fdy,  faith  gone  through  (want  or  breach  o{ faith)  ;  sSfr'ance, 
afjft'ancer. 

FiK-ls,  the  end  ;  a  bound  or  limit  :  as,  fi'nite,  having  limits  or  bounds  ; 
in^^nite,  having  no  bounds  or  limits  ;  fni\\,  relating  to  the  end  j  con'fne,  a 
common  boundary  ;  confine',  to  put  erids  together,  {to  bound,  to  limit,  to  shut 

HP) 

FiRM-us,  Stable,  firm,  strong  :  sls,  fir^ moment,  the  thing  made  firm  or  sta- 
ble {the  sky  or  heavens)  ;  iWfirm,  not  strong  {weak)  ;  confirm,  to  strengthen, 
together,  (to  titablish,  or  settle,  to  put  past  doubt  by  new  evidence.) 

Flu-o,  fluxum,  to  flow  :  as,  af^uent,^otring  to  ;  fltur,  a  flow  ;  re'flux,  a 
flowing  back  ;  in^uence,  aJ?ou'ing  in  or  upon  ;  super^uous,  flowing  above, 
or  more  than  enough,  {unnecessary.) 

Form-a,  form  or  shape,  a  figure  :  as,  deform',  to  spoil  the  form  {to  make 
ugly)  ;  fo/jiial,  belonging  to  form  ;  reform',  to  form  again  or  anew  j  traua- 
form',  to  change  the  form. 

Fort-is,  strong,  valiant :  as,  comfort,  to  make  strong  together  (to  make 
glad)  ;  fo/tify,  to  make  strong. 

Frang-o,  fractum,  to  break:  as,  in_/ran'g^ible,  that  cannot  be  broken; 
frac'tion,  llie  act  of  breaking,  a  broken  part  ;  frag'ile,  or  frail,  easily  broken, 
{weak.) 

FoD-0,  fusum,  to  pour,  to  melt :  as,  confound,  to  pour  together  {to  mix, 
to  perplex,  to  amaze)  ;  fu'sihle,  that  may  be  melted  ;  refund',  to  pour  back, 
{to  pay  back  what  is  received.) 

Gr.,  the  earth  :  as,  geog'raphy,  a  description  of  the  earth  or  world  ;  geol'o' 
gy,  the  doctrine  of  the  earth ;  ^'eopon'ics,  the  science  of  cultivating  the 
ground  ;  geot'ic,  belonging  to  the  earth. 

Gr.MUS,  fl  race  or  descent;  a  family,  a  kind  or  sort:  as,  de»en'erate,  to 


HINTS  TO  READERS  AND  SPEAKERS.   21 

fell  from  the  virtue  of  ancestors,  or  from  its  kind  ;  gen'der,  sex  or  kind  ;  gen'- 
eral,  belonging  to  a  whole  tribe  {common  or  usual)  ;  gen'eraWze,  to  reduce  to 
o  genus ;  gen'erous,  of  noble  birth  or  mind  (liberal)  ;  /je^mal,  tending  to 
propagation  or  cheerfulness  (natural)  ;  gen'uincy  of  one^s  own  production^  (not 
spurious  or  vitiated,  real.) 

Ger-0,  gestum,  to  bear  or  carri/,  to  bring  :  as,  belli^'erent,  carrying  on 
war  ;  viceg^e'rent,  one  who  carries  on  or  rules  for  another  (a  lieutenant)  ; 
suggest',  to  bring  under  (to  hint,  to  intimate)  j  ingest',  to  throw  into  the  stom- 
ach. 

Gradi-or,  gressus,  to  go  step  by  step  :  as,  degrade',  to  go  or  bring  a  step 
down  (to  place  lower)  :  aggress',  to  go  to  (to  assault  or  begin  the  quarrel)  ; 
grad'uate,  to  go  step  by  step,  or  mark  with  degrees  (to  dignify  with,  or  take  an 
academical  degree)  j  transgress',  to  pass  over  or  beyond  (to  violate  or  break)  ; 
progres'sive,  going  forward. 

Grand-is,  great,  lofty  :  as,  ag'grandize,  to  make  great  j  grand,  great, 
splendid;  ^randiToquous,  using  lofty  words. 

Graph-o,  to  trace  lines,  to  write,  to  describe  :  as,  anemog'ra/>Ay,  a  descrip- 
tion of  tiie  wind  ;  an'iograph,  the  handwriting  of  any  one  (the  original, — 
the  opposite  of  ap'ograph,  a  copy)  ;  hihViog'raphy ,  the  description  of  books  or 
literary  history  ;  hr achy g' rap hy ,  short-hand  writing  ;  lu'erogravn  or  hierog'- 
raphy,  holy  writing  ;  hydrog'raphy,  the  description  of  water  ;  lithoj^rfl^/ty, 
vniting  upon  stone  ;  orthog^ra/»Ay,  correct  writing  of  words  ;  po^yg'raphy, 
urriting  in  many  unusual  ways  ;  graph'ic,  well  described  or  delineated,  or  re- 
lating to  engraving. 

Grati-a,  favor,  gratitude,  thankfulness  :  as,  gra'cious,  full  of  favor 
(kind,  becoming)  ;  grat'iCy,  to  make  grateful  (to  indulge,  to  please)  ;  gra'tis, 
freely,  (for  nothing.) 

Hab-eo,  habitum,  to  have,  to  hold  :  as,  cohab'it,  to  dwell  or  live  together 
(as  husbHnd  and  wife)  ;  exhib'it,  to  hold  out  ;  \nhab'itah\e,  that  may  be  dwelt 
in  ;  prohib'it,  to  hold  forward,  (to  forbid,  to  hinder  or  debar.) 

Jac-io,  jactum,  to  throw,  to  cast,  or  to  dart  :  as,  eject',  to  throw  out  ;  in- 
ject',  to  throw  in  ;  ob;ec/',  to  cast  against  ;  oh'ject,  something  cast  in  the  way; 
e_7ac'uZate,  to  throv),  shoot,  or  dart  out  ;  suhjec'tiye,  throwing  or  placing  under, 
or  relating  to  the  subject. 

JuDic-o,  judicatum,  to  give  sentence,  to  judge  :  as,  ju'dicatorv,  distributing 
justice,  or  a  court  oi  justice  ;  judid'al,  relating  to  a  judge  or  \ega\  justice  ; 
pr ej'uclice,  judgment  formed  beforehand,  without  examination. 

JoNG-o,  junctum,  to  join:  as,  ad'junct,  something  joined  or  united  to 
(though  not  essentially)  ;  con^Mnc'fion,  a  doming  or  connecting  together  ;  en- 
join',  or  injoin',  to  make  to  join  (to  direct,  to  order)  ;  %nhjunct\\e,  joined  un- 
der, or  added  to. 

Leg-o,  lectum,  to  gather,  to  read,  to  choose  :  as,  coUect',  to  gather  together; 
el'igihie,  that  may  be  gathered  out,  or  fit  to  be  chosen  ;  elec'tion,  the  act  of 
choosing  or  gathering  out  ;  lec'tnre,  the  thing  read  (a  discourse)  ;  neglect', 
not  to  gather  (to  omit  by  carelessness)  ;  pro/e^o»i'e;ia,  introductory  observa- 
tions. 

Lex,  a  law  or  rule  :  as,  ilZe'gal,  not  lawM  ;  law'yer,  one  who  profesees  or 
is  skilled  in  law;  Zegwla'tion,  the  act  of  giving  laws;  leg'islator,  one  who 
makes  laws  ;  legit'imate,  legal,  genuine,  born  in  marriage. 

Liber, /rec;  as,  lib'eraie,  to  free  or  set  free ;  deliv'er,  to  Bet  free,  (to 
save,  to  give  up  ;   to  speak.) 

Log-OS,  reason,  a  word,  a  speech,  a  discourse,  science,  or  knowledge  :  as, 
smihol'ogy,  a  collection  of  flowers  or  poems  ;  apol'ogy,  defence,  excuse  ;  asthe- 
nol'ogy,  a  discourse  on  weakness  ;  di'alogue,  a  discourse  between  two  (or 
more)  ;  entomol'ogy,  a  discourse  on  insects  ;  log'ic,  the  art  of  reasonins, 


22  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

L0Q.U-OR,  locutus,  to  speak  :  as,  aVloquy,  a  speaking  lo,  (address)  ;  col'- 
loquy,  a  speaking  togetJier  (talk)  ;  e/'o^uence,  a  speaking  out,  (the  power  of 
speaking  with  fluency  and  elegance)  ;  hqua'cious,  full  of  talk  or  tongue  j  oW- 
loquy,  a  speaking  against,  {blame.) 

hvyiiiS,  light :  as,  illume^,  illumine,  or  iUu'minnte,  to  shine  on,  or  put 
ligfu  in  ;  lu'minary,  a  body  or  thing  that  gives  light. 

LuSTR-UM,  a  survey  made  every  four  years  ;  a  purifying  sacrifice  :  as,  il- 
lus'trale,  to  brighten  with  light  or  honor,  (lo  explain  or  elucidate.) 

Male,  mains,  c«7,  i// .-  as,  dis'mal,  an  evil  day ,  sorrowful  j  mo/cfac'tor, 
one  who  does  evil  ;   malev'olent,  willing  evil. 

Ma.nd-o,  mandatum,  to  commit,  to  command  or  bid  :  as,  command',  to  bid, 
to  govern  ;  man'date,  a  command  or  charge  ;  demand!,  to  ask  for  with  atuhor- 
Uy. 

Man-ds,  the  hand  :  as,  eman'cipate,  to  fake  out  by  the  hand  (to  set  free 
from  servitude)  ;  mnn'acle,  a  chain  for  the  hand  ;  manciple,  a  handiwi,  a 
small  band  of  soldiers  ;  manufac'iure,  the  thing  or  work  done  by  the  hand  i 
Tnan'wscript,  the  thing  written  with  the  hand  ;  manu'briwm,  a  haridle. 

Memor,  mindful,  keeping  in  mind  :  as,  mcm'orable,  worthy  of  memory,  or 
of  being  kept  in  mind. 

Mend-a,  a  blemish  ;  a  mistake  :  as,  amend',  or  emend',  to  take  out  the 
blemishes  or  faults,  (lo  correct.} 

Mensur-a,  measure  :  as,  comwien'^urate,  measured  with  or  together;  im- 
mens/,  not  measurable,  (unlimited,  ii>finite..) 

MiNU-0,  minutum,  to  lessen  :  as,  di/nin'ish,  to  make  or  grow  less;  mi'nor^ 
the  less,  — petty,  little  ;  mmute',  small,  slender  ;  minu'ti^s,  the  smaller  par- 
ticulars. 

MiTT-o,  missura,  to  send  :  as,  admit'  to  send  to  (to  allow)  ;  demit',  to  send 
down  (to  depress)  ;  dismjss,'  to  send  asunder  or  away  ;  omit',  to  leave  out,  to 
pass  over,  to  neglect  ;  remit,'  to  send  back  ;  inawiw'sible,  not  to  be  lost  ; 
transmu'/ible,  that  may  be  sent  beyon<l,  or  from  place  to  place. 

MoNE-O,  monitum,  ro  ptU  in  mind,  to  warn:  as,  admon' ish,  to  warn  of 
faults  ;  mon^ument,  anything  that  puts  or  keeps  in  mind,  a  tomb. 

MoN-OS,  one,  alone,  solitary  :  as,  mon'acha\,  |>ertaining  to  monks  or  a  mo- 
nastic life  ;  mon'ad,  an  indivisible  thing  ;  7«on'arch,  the  government  of  a 
single  person  ;  mon'astevy,  a  house  of  religious  retirement ;  mon'ody,  a  poem 
sung  by  one  ;   monop'athy,  solitary  feeling  or  suffering. 

MovE-o,  motum,  to  -move  :  as,  comww'fion,  a  wioving  together,  a  tumult  ; 
immor'able,  that  cannot  be  moved  ;  promote'  to  move  forward,  to  advance. 

MvLT-vs,  many  :  as,  mul'tifid,  many-cleft  ;  7nu/fjloc'ular,  having  many 
cells  ;  mtdtip'arous,  producing  many  at  a  birth  ;  mul'tiped,  an  insect  with 
many  feet, 

MuNUS,  a  gift  or  present  ;  an  office  ;  a  part,  a  portion  :  as,  commu'nicate, 
to  give  a  share  with,  to  impart  /  mu'nerary,  relating  to  a  gift  ;  WMwificent, 
making  a  gift,  —  liberal  in  giving  or  bestowing  ;  immu'nity,  freedom  or  ex- 
emption ,  prixileg  e . 

MuT-0,  mutatum,  to  change :  as,  commtrfe',  to  change  with,  or  to  put  one 
thing  in  the  place  of  another  ;  mu'tahie,  subject  to  change. 

NoN,  not:  a«?,  non'age,  not  age,  —  under  21,  minority;  non-conta'gious, 
not  contagious  ;   nousense,  no  sense  ;  nonpareil',  no  equal. 

NuMER-os,  a  number  :  as,  innw'merable,  that  cannot  be  numbered  ;  enu'- 
merate,  to  number  out,  to  count  or  tell  ;   supernu'merary,  one  above  number. 

Omn-is,  all,  every  :  as,  omniCerous,  a//-bearing  ;  o/nnip'otence,  all  or 
almighty  power  ;   omnis'cienl,  a//-knowing  or  seeing. 

Opkk-a,  tvork,  labor:  as,  op'erale,  to  act,  to  exert  power  or  strength, /o 
toork  i  opw*'cule,  a  small  work. 


HINTS    TO    READERS    AND    SPEAKERS.      23 

Ordo,  order,  rank,  arrangement  :  as,  extraor'Jmary,  beyond  the  common 
order  ;  inor'dinnte,  not  according  to  order  or  rule  ;  ordain',  to  set  apart  for  an 
office  ;  to  appoint. 

Or-o,  oratum,  to  speak,  to  beg  :  as,  adore',  to  pay  divine  worship  or  honor 
to  ;  inex'orable,  that  cannot  be  moved  by  entreaty  or  prayer  ;  oVal,  of  the 
mouth. 

Par,  equal,  like,  meet,  match  to :  as,  pa/ity,  a  being  equal,  like  state  or  de« 
gree  ;  com'parable,  that  may  be  compared,  or  being  of  equal  regard  ;  com- 
peer', an  equal,  a  companion,  an  associate. 

Pars,  a  part,  a  share,  a  portion  :  as,  pa/tidl,  of  apart  or  party,  biassed  to 
one  parly  }  partake,  to  take  impart,  portion,  or  share  of;  parf  ic'i  pate,  to  take 
or  liave  a  share  in  common  with  others  ;  partic'uXdLV,  pertaining  to  a  single 
person  or  thing,  special ;  impart',  to  give,  to  grant. 

Pater,  a  father :  as,  pat'rimony,  a  right  or  estate  inherited  from  one's 
father  or  ancestors  ;  pa'triot,  a  lover  of  his  country. 

Pax,  peace  :  as,  pac'iiy,  to  make  peace,  to  appease,  to  quiet  J  appease',  to 
make  quiet,  to  calm  ;  joacif'ic,  peace-making,  mild,  gentle  i  also,  an  ocean. 

Pell-o,  pulsum,  to  drive,  to  strike  :  as,  compel,  to  drive  together,  or  urge 
Avith  force  ;  dispe/',  to  drive  asunder,  to  disperse  ;  expulsion,  the  act  of  dri'V' 
ing  out  ;  repei7ent,  rfn'ving  back. 

Pend-eo,  pensum,  to  hang  :  as,  depewd'ent,  hanging  down,  subject  to  the 
power  of,  at  the  disposal  of ;  pen'sUe,  hanging,  suspended. 

Phil-OS,  a  lover:  as,  pAiVan'thropist,  a  /ot;er  of  mankind  ;  pAiWophy, 
the  love  of  wisdom  ;  TheopA'i7us,  a  lover  of  God. 

Plac-eo,  to  please  :  as,  pleas'dnt,  pleasing  ;  placid,  quiet,  gentle,  serene, 
calm. 

PLAt!-vs,  plain,  srnooth,  level  J  evident,  clear:  as,  explain',  to  mak&  plain 
or  clear,  to  expound  ;   complane',  or  com'pZanate,  to  make  level. 

Plaud-o,  plausum,  to  make  a  noise  by  clapping  the  hands,  to  praise  :  as, 
dispWe',  to  discharge  or  burst  with  a  violent  noise :  plaus'ihle,  that  may  be 
praised. 

Plen-us,  full :  as,  pi eyiipoten'thiry,  one  who  is  invested  with  full  power 
to  transact  any  business  ;  p/e'nary,  full,  entire  ;  leplen'ish,  to  fill  again,  to 

Plic-O,  plicatum,  to  fold,  to  knit  :  as,  apply,  to  fold  or  lay  to,  to  use,  to 
put,  to  betake  ;  com'p/icate,  to  fold  and  tvoist  together,  to  entangle  ;  ex'p/icate, 
to  unfold,  to  explain  ;  display ,  to  unfold,  to  open,  to  show  ;  com'plex,  em- 
bracing two  or  more  things. 

Plor-o,  ploratum,  to  cry  out,  to  wail,  to  weep  :  as,  deplored,  to  bewail,  to 
mourn. 

Pol-is,  a  city,  a  town  :  as,  Constan'tinopZe,  the  city  of  Constantine  ; 
cosmop'o/ite,  a  citizen  of  the  world  ;  poZite'  polished  or  elegant  in  manners, 
well-bred  ;  poZ'ish,  to  make  smooth  and  glossy,  to  refine  ;  poZ'ifics,  the  sci- 
ence of  government. 

Poly,  7nany :  as,  pol'ychord,  having  many  chords  ;  polyg'amy,  the  hav- 
ing many  wives  or  husbands  at  the  same  time  ;  pol'ygon,  a  figure  of  many 
angles  and  sides  ;  poZ'ygram,  a  figure  of  many  lines  ;  poZymorph'ous  having 
many  forms  ;  polyon'owy,  many  names  ;  jJoZyph'yllous,  many-leaved. 

PoN-o,  positum,  fo  put  or  place  :  as,  ap'posite,  pZacing  to,  fit  j  compose', 
to  place  or  set  together  ;  depose',  to  put  or  lay  down  ;  dispoic',  to  set  or  put 
apart,  to  place  or  distribute  ;  expose',  to  put  out  or  lay  open  ;  impose'  to 
place,  or  lay  on,  to  cheat  ;  oppose',  to  put  or  set  against  ;  postpone',  to  put 
after  or  off  ;   to  delay  ;  com'post  (put  together  or  mixed),  manure. 

PoPUL-tJS,  the  people  :  as,  popu'lons,  full  oi  people  ;  pop'ular,  beloDging  to, 
er  beloved  by  the  people  ;  pub' lie,  belonging  to  a  whole  people,  open  ;  depop'^ 
uZate  or  dhpe'oplf,  to  strip  of  people  or  inhabitants. 


24  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

PoRT-o,  portatum,  to  carry ,  or  bear,  to  import  or  betoken  :  as,  comport',  to 
bear  with  or  carry  together,  to  iwtf  or  accord  ;  de/»r^ment,  carriage,  behavior, 
conduct  ;  ey^port',  to  carry  out  ;  report',  to  bear  or  carry,  back  ;  import',  to 
carry  in,  to  mean,  to  imply. 

Poss-E,  to  be  able:  as,  impoi/sihXe,  that  cannot  be;  im'potent,  wanting 
power  ;  po'tenta.te,  a  person  of  power,  a  prince  or  king  ;  po»ses'aor,  one  who 
possesses  or  occupies. 

Prim-US,  Ju^st :  as,  pri'mary,  of  the  first  ;  p-iVciple,  the  first  of  any- 
thing, the  cause  or  origin,  clement  ;  pris't'xne,  or  prim'itive,  first,  ancient; 
pnme'val,  of  tlie  first  age. 

PuNG— o,  punclum,  to  point  or  prick  :  as,  comjjKnc'tion,  a  pricking,  a  prick- 
ing of  heart  ;  expunged,  to  blot  out,  —  as  with  a  pen,  to  efface  ;  pun'gent, 
pricking,  acrid,  sharp  ;  poi'gnnnt,  sharp,  piercing,  keen. 

Reg-0,  rectum,  to  rule  or  govern  :  as,  correct',  to  make  rigttt,  or  set  rigfu, 
to  amend  ;  rcc'for,  a  governor  ;  rcc/'anglc,  a  figure  of  four  right  angles  ;  re<^' 
tify,  to  make  right  ;  re'gion,  a  district  under  one  ruler,  a  country  ;  re'g^al,  be- 
longing to  a  king  ;  rcr,  a  king. 

RUPT-UM,  to  break,  to  burst  :  as,  abrupt',  broken  off  or  short,  craggy, 
a  sudden  breaking  off  ;  disrwp'tion,  a  rcnrfing  or  bursting  asunder  ;  erwp'tion, 
a  violent  breaking  or  ^ur^ting  out  or  forth  ;   irrup'tion,  a  ^ur^ting  in. 

Satis,  enough,  sufficient :  as,  sate,  sa'tiate,  to  fill,  to  glut  ;  sat'isfy,  to  give 
enough,  to  content  ;  sat'urate,  impregnating  to  the  full. 

ScHOL-A,  school  :  as,  5c?iolasYic,  pertaining  to  a  scholar,  to  a  school  or 
schools. 

Sci-o,  to  know:  as  consacn'tious,  obeying  the  dictates  of  conscience  J 
con'scious,  knowing  one's  self ;   omnijc'ience,  knowledge  of  all  things. 

ScRiB-o,  scriptum,  to  write  :  as,  ascribe',  to  trnte  or  impute  to,  to  attrib- 
ute ;  circum»cri6e',  to  write  round,  to  limit  or  bound  ;  describe',  to  write 
down,  to  delineate  ;   inscribe',  to  write  or  to  address  to  ;  transcn'ie',  to  copy. 

Semi,  half:  as,  sem'ilone,  half  a  lone. 

Serv-io,  servitum,  to  be  a  slave,  to  serve,  to  obey  :  as,  de«rt"e',  to  merit  ; 
serv'i\e,  belonging  to  slavery. 

SiGN-UM,  a  mark  or  sign,  a  seal :  as,  assign',  to  allot,  to  appoint  ;  con- 
sign',  to  give,  to  deliver  ;  dcA-i^n',  to  delineate,  to  plan,  to  intend  ;  re«'gn', 
to  give  up  or  hack. 

SiMiL-is,  like  :  as,  assim'ilatc,  to  make  like  to  ;  dis«m'j7ar,  not  like  or 
similar  ;  sim'ilar,  like,  resembling. 

SiST-o,  to  set,  to  stop,  to  stand  :  as,  assist,  to  stand  up  to,  to  help;  conjwt', 
to  stand  together  ;  de^iiAt',  to  stop,  to  forbear  ;  e\ist',  to  stand  out,  to  be,  to 
live,  to  remain. 

SoL-US,  alone,  single,  forlorn,  desert  :  as,  solitary,  living  alone  :  sol'itade, 
Zoneliness,  a  desert. 

Soi.v-o,  solutum,  to  loose,  to  melt,  to  free,  to  pay  :  as,  ah'solutary,  absolv- 
ing ;  dis'jo/uble,  lliat  may  be  dissolved  or  melted  ;  solve,  to  loosen,  to  explain^ 
to  remove. 

SoPH-iA,  wisdom,  knowledge,  learning  :  as,  theo^ophy,  divine  vdsdom. 

Sors,  lot,  sort,  kind  :  as,  assort,  to  distribute  into  sorts,  kinds,  or  classes. 

Speci-o,  to  see,  to  look  :  as,  as'pect,  to  look  to,  look,  view  ;  despise'  to  look 
down  with  contempt  ;  ei^pect',  to  look  for  ;  inspect',  to  look  on  or  into  ;  re- 
spect', to  look  back  with  deference,  to  regard. 

St-o,  staium,  to  stand  ;  to  set :  as,  arrest',  to  obstruct  to  seize  ;  con'stan- 
cy,  a  standing  firm  ;  con'stitute,  to  set,  to  fix,  to  form  ;  ob'stacle,  a  thing 
standing  in  the  way  ;  sta'ble,  firm,  solid,  sure  ;  sta'tue,  an  image  ;  statfute, 
a  law  ;   understand',  to  know,  to  comprehend  fully. 

Stru-o,  structum,  to  build  :  as,  destroy',  to  pull  down;  instruct',  to  teach, 
to  direct ;  micinstrwct',  to  instruct  amiss  ;  obstruct',  to  block  up,  to  impede. 


SUGGESTIONS  TO  TEACHERS.       25 

SUM-O,  sumptum,  to  take  :  as,  assume',  to  take  to  or  upon  one  ;  consume  f 
to  take  up,  to  destroy,  to  waste  ;   resume'  to  take  back,  to  begin  again. 

Tempvs,  time  :  as,  coiem'jjorary,  living  at  the  same  time  J  tem'por izCt  to 
comply  with,  or  yield  to  the  time  ;  tense,  time. 

Tkn-eo,  tentum,  to  hold  :  as,  -Ahstain'  to  hold  from  ;  appertain',  or  per- 
tain', to  belong  ;  conram',  to  hold  ;  cowtin'ue,  to  abide,  to  last  ;  detain,  to 
hold  from  ;  ob/am',  to  get,  to  gain  ;  retain' y  to  hold  or  keep  back  ;  fe7i'abie, 
that  may  be  held. 

Termin-us,  a  limit  or  boundary,  end  or  period  :  as,  detcrm'ine,  to  end,  to 
fix  on  ;  exterrn'mate,  to  root  out,  to  destroy  utterly  :  fcrm'mate,  to  bound,  to 
end. 

Test-is,  a  witness  :  as,  attest',  to  bear  witness  to  ;  contest',  to  dispute  ; 
detest',  to  thrust  away,  to  abhor  ;  test'iiy,  to  bear  witness. 

ToRT-UM,  to  twii,t,to  writhe:  as,  contort',  to  twist  together;  detort',  to 
twist,  to  pervert  ;    intort'  to  twist,  to  wind. 

Trah-o,  tractum,  to  draw  :  as,  attract',  to  draw  to  ;  contract',  to  draw  to- 
gether ;  extract',  to  draw  out  ;   subtract',  to  draw  under  or  from. 

Tribut-um,  to  give  :  as,  attrii'Mte,  to  give  to  ;  contriittte,  to  give  with  or 
together  ;   distni'wte,  to  give  in  parts. 

Un-US,  one  a/one  ;  the  same  :  as,  disunite',  to  separate,  to  part;  ttnan'i- 
mous,  of  one  mind  ;  u'nion,  a  making  one  ;  u'ni'son,  one  sound  ;  u'nit,  one  ; 
unite',  to  make  into  one  ;  u'nity,  the  being  one. 

Ut-or,  usus,  to  use :  as,  abuse',  ill  use,  I'eviling  words  ;  disuse',  to  cease 
to  use  ;   inutility,  uselessness. 

Vert-o.  versum,  to  turn  :  as,  divert',  to  turn  aside  ;  introijert',  to  turn  in- 
wards ;  obuert',  to  turn  towards  ;  ret'rorert',  to  turn  backward  ;  revert',  to 
turn  or  draw  back  ;  versify,  to  make  verses. 

Ver-us,  t?-Me ;  as,  verac'ity,  the  truth  of  the  speaker  ;  rer'ity,  the  truth 
of  a  statement  or  proposition. 

ViD-EO,  visum,  to  see  :  as,  revise',  to  review  ;  vis'age,  the  face,  the  look  ; 
vis'ible,  that  can  be  seen  ;  Wit,  to  go  to  see  ;  vis'ua],  belonging  to  the  sight. 

ViDU-o,  to  part,  to  deprive  of :  as,  avoid',  to  shun  ;  divide',  to  separate,  to 
part  in  pieces  or  portions  ;   diwVible,  that  may  be  divided  or  separated. 

ViNC-o,  victum,  to  conquer,  to  overcome,  to  subdue  :  as,  inDinable,  not  to 
be  conquered  or  overcome  ;  van'^u ish,  to  conquer,  to  subdue  in  battle. 

Viv— o,  victum,  to  live  :  as,  revivef,  to  live  again  ;  survive',  to  outlives  viv'- 
ify,  vii/ificate,  to  give  life. 

Voc-o,  vocatum,  to  call :  as,  convoke',  to  call  together  ;  evok^,  to  call  out 
or  forth  ;  invoke',  to  call  on,  to  implore  ;  vo'cable,  a  word. 

PLAN   OF   EXERCISES   SUGGESTED  TO  TEACHERS. 

Lesson  1.  Let  the  pupil  spell  and  define  the  principal  words  in  every  les- 
son. If  there  are  any  words  in  the  lesson  customaribtpronounced  wrong, 
direct  his  attention  to  them.  The  following  instances 'occur  in  this  lesson. 
People  often  say  ivite  for  white  ;  ranging  for  rainging  ;  furce  for  feerse.  Fol- 
low these  directions  in  respect  to  each  lesson.  See  Rule  2,  and  the  examples. 

General  Questions  on  this  lesson,  for  the  pupil.  What  is  taught  by  this  les- 
son 1  What  is  meant  by  West,  in  verse  5  1  Can  savages  read  1  What  benefit 
would  come  to  them  from  learning  to  read  1  Explain  the  meaning  of  verse  12. 

Questions  on  the  Rules,  for  the  pupil.  How  ought  poetry  to  be  read  1  See 
Rule  16.     What  of  accent  and  emphasis  in  reading  poetry  1 

Etymological  Exercise.  Ask  the  pupil.  What  is  the  meaning  of  a  prefix  1 
An  affix  1  A  root  "?  See  pages  13  and  14.  What  prefix  is  in  the  word 
disgrace,  lesson  1,  verse  2'?  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  prefix  c?is  ?  see 
page  14.     What  aflix  in  boundless,  verse  5 1     What  is  the  meaning  of  the 

3 


26  TH£    FOURTH    READER. 

affix  less  ;  see  page  18.  What  root  in  the  word  inference,  verse  11  1  What 
prefix  in  the  same  word  %  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  root  ferum  ?  see/er-o, 
page  20.  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  prefix  in  ?  see  page  22.  Let  the  pu- 
pil tell  the  prefixes  and  affixes  of  the  following  words,  with  the  meanings  of 
each  :  invite,  declare,  impart,  reveal,  increase,  study,  freely^  blissful,  ({d'  The 
prefixes  will  be  found  alphabetically  arranged,  beginning  at  page  14  ;  the 
aflSxes  at  page  16. 

Lesson  2.  QC|=*  It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  the  direction  to  require  the  pupil 
to  spell  and  define  the  principal  words  ;  or  to  point  out  words  apt  to  be  er- 
roneously pronounced,  as  these  rules  are  to  apply  to  all  the  lessons. 

General  Questions  on  lesson  2.  Is  this  story  a  fable  ?  What  is  a  fable  1 
What  does  this  fable  teach  1  Can  animals  really  talk  1  Why  are  they 
represented  as  talking,  and  thinking,  and  reasoning,  in  fables  1 

Questions  on  the  Rules.  In  each  lesson  let  the  pupil's  attention  be  direct- 
ed to  some  one  of  the  rules,  beginning  at  page  7.  Let  him  read  the  lesson 
with  a  special  regard  to  the  rule  selected  ;  and  let  him  be  required  to  repeat 
it.  For  example,  in  this  lesson,  ask  him  what  is  the  first  requisite  in  read- 
ing or  speaking  1  What  is  articulation  1  How  can  you  illustrate  the  im- 
portance of  good  articulation  1     See  Rule  1. 

Etymological  Exercise.  Let  the  pupil  tell  the  prefixes  and  afiixes  in  the 
following  words,  with  their  meanings  ;  lively,  inculcate,  eloquently,  cruelty, 
relate,  .sharply,  admit,  foolish,  gayety,  pei-petual,  delude.  Let  the  pupil  tell  the 
roots  in  the  following  words,  with  their  meanings  ;  illustrated,  eloquently, 
admit. 

Lesson  3.  Attend  to  spelling,  definitions,  and  pronunciation,  as  directed, 
in  all  cases. 

General  Questions.  Where  is  Connecticut  RiVer  1  When  was  the  war 
of  the  Revolution  1  What  was  a  tory  in  the  Revohilion  1  What  does  this 
lesson  teach  1  Ans.  That  a  man  who  had  adopted  opinions  that  we  con- 
demn, may  still  !«  honest  and  entitled  to  our  sincere  respect. 

Questions  on  the  Rules.  What  Can  you  say  of  pronunciation  1  See  Rule  2. 
In  this  case,  the  pupil  is  to  read  the  story  tuld  by  Mr.  B.  as  he  is  supposed 
to  have  told  it  himself.  It  is  a  case  in  which  Rule  15  applies.  Therefore 
ask  the  pupil  the  following  questioi^  :  What  is  the  distinction  between  nar- 
rative and  representation  1  See  Rule  15.  How  should  you  read  the  story 
of  the  twins,  told  by  Mr.  B  1 

Etymological  Exercise.  Tell  the  prefixes,  affixes,  and  roots,  with  their 
meanings,  in  the  following  words  :  represented,  firmness,  advancing,  admit- 
ted, confined,  regain,  fruitless,  attetnpt,  permitted,  assist,  discharge,  liberty. 

Lesson  4.  General  Question.  What  is  the  general  idea  of  tliis  poem  1 
Question  on  the  Rule.  How  should  tender  poetry  be  read  1  Rulo  16.  Etymo- 
logical  Exercise.  Tell  the  prefixes,  affixes,  and"  roots,  with  their  meanings  in 
the  following  words;  piteous,  helpless,  bitterness,  verdant,  heavenward,  peaceful. 

Lesson  6.  Wh|^.does  this  fable  teach  1  Point  the  pupil's  attention  to 
rules  3  and  15,  a^^  ask  suitable  questions  respecting  them.  Etymological 
Exercise  :  delightful,  forbear,  extent,  content,  mischievous,  advantage,  com- 
mune,  dangerous,  harmless,  remember. 

Lesson  6.  Where  is  the  river  Ohio  1  The  Mississippi  1  Direct  attention 
to  Rule  9,  and  ask  questions,  so  as  to  see  that  the  pupil  understands  it  fully. 
Etymological  Exercise  :  devious,  determine,  afford,  direction,  beset,  adventure. 

Lesson  7.  What  is  taught  by  this  lesson  1  Attend  to  Rule  14,  tell  what  it 
is,  &c.  &c.     Etymological  Exercise  :  lonely,  quickly,  fairly,  greedy. 

Lesson  8.  Where  is  Egypt  1  What  is  a  Pacha  1  Who  were  the  Mame- 
lukes 1  Attend  to  Rule  13,  tell  what  it  is,  &c.  Etymological  Exercise  : 
pouferful,  troublesome,  concusri7n,fe'xrful,  breathUss,  renfUKd^fortun-ite,  remnant. 


SUGGESTIONS  TO  TEACHERS.       27 

Lesson  9.  When  was  Rubens  born  1  Where  "?  What  was  he  1  Where 
is  Madrid  1  What  is  a  monk  1  A  prior  7  Rules  18,  15,  and  11.  Etymo- 
logical Exercise  :  residence,  represented,  excited,  favorite,  deserve,  inscribe,  re- 
membrance,  conjure,  reveal,  entreaty,  mission,  return,  compel,  await,  fruitless, 
resist,  dismiss,  withheld,  object,  overcome.  N.  B.  It  will  be  remarked,  that  in 
many  cases,  as  in  mission,  resist,  excited,  dismiss,  &c.,  the  word  consists  of 
both  a  prefix  or  affix  and  root,  and  sometimes  of  all  the  three. 

Lesson  10.  What  does  this  lesson  teach  1  Observe  Rule  12.  Etymolog' 
teal  Exercise  :  complacency,  confidence.  (N.  B.  These  words  are  each  com- 
pounded of  a  prefix,  an  affix,  and  a  root  ;)  remember,  musical,  {al  means,  be- 
longing to.) 

Lesson  11.  General  idea  of  this  poem  1  Observe  Rule  16.  Why  is  it 
necessary  to  be  careful  of  the  tone  of  your  voice  ']  See  Rule  3.  What  are 
the  four  common  modifications  of  the  voice  *?  What  is  a  monotone  1  When 
is  it  to  be  used  1  What  is  the  rising  inflexion  1  When  is  it  to  be  used  1 
What  is  the  falling  inflexion  ^  When  is  it  to  be  used  1  What  is  the  cir- 
cumflex inflexion  1  When  is  it  to  be  used  1  See  Rules  4,  5,  6,  7.  How  is 
a  knowledge  of  a  proper  use  of  these  inflexions  to  be  acquired  1  See  Rule  8. 
Etymological  Exercise  :  beauteous,  reckless,  dreamless,  perchance^  midnight, 
awful,  relief. 

Lesson  12.  General  idea  of  this  narrative.  This  story  being  pathetic,  in 
what  tone  of  voice  should  it  be  read  1  Rule  3.  Etymological  Exercise  :  hust- 
^^^gi  (.ing  means  with,)  accidental,  inscribed,  mildness,  barbarous,  blameless, 
assistance,  infirm,  homeward,  repose,  described,  pious,  missed. 

Lesson  13.  It  is  not  necessary  for  the  author  to  add  further  questions  as  to 
the  general  sense  and  meaning  of  the  lessons.  It  is  desirable  that  the  teacher, 
ill  all  cases,  should  ascertain  by  questions,  whether  the  pupil  understands  what 
he  has  read.  He  should  be  able  to  tell  where  places  mentioned  are,  who 
persons  mentioned  are,  what  general  inference,  or  sentiment,  or  idea,  is  to  be 
drawn  from  the  lesson,  &c.  The  teacher  should  adapt  his  questions  to  the 
pupil,  with  a  view  to  excite  reflection,  and  induce  him  to  set  the  machinery  of 
the  mind  at  work  upon  the  subject.  If  it  is  found  that  anything  in  the  lesson 
is  beyond  the  pupil's  understanding,  it  should  be  explained  to  him.  —  Direct 
the  pupil's  attention  to  Rule  19,  and  ask  the  following  questions.  Why  should 
a  pupil  have  a  Dictionary  by  him  1  What  fixed  principle  or  rule  shouhi  a  pupil 
observe  '?  What  is  a  root  1  A  prefix  1  An  affix  1  What  is  the  use  of  know- 
ing prefixes,  affixes,  and  roots  1  Etymological  Exercise  :  undeniable,  dislike^ 
premonitory,  interruption,  capricious,  naturalist, painful,  extraordinary y  mistake, 
obituary,  favorite,  exorbitant,  discharge. 

Lesson  14.  Observe  Rule  9.  Etymological  Exercise  :  tuneless,  unknown, 
clearly,  boundless. 

Lesson  15.  Observe  Rule  12.  Etymological  Exercise  :  perfection,  deserve, 
different,  disliked,  deceitful,  defence. 

Lesson  16.  Observe  Rules  15  and  9.  The  teacher a|jijl)lease  bear  ift  mind, 
that  in  all  cases  it  will  be  well  to  ask  the  pupil  ques^fv  so  as  to  see  if  he 
fully  understands  the  rule  referred  to,  can  tell  what  it  fi^and  give  the  reason 
why  it  is  important.  Etymological  Exercise:  understand,  contradiction,  ex- 
plain,  guidance,  useless,  enforce,  apparent,  overcome,  spiritual,  research,  clearly, 
enable,  disappointment. 

Lesson  17.  Observe  Rules  16,  13,  and  12.  Etymological  Exercise  :  bound' 
less,  o'erthrovm,  balmy. 

Lesson  18.  Rides  5,  6,  7,  and  8.  Etymological  Exercise  :  toward,  deposit, 
rtmember,  pervade,  lively,  advocate,  produce,  discharged,  eliciting,  preceding, 
possession,  interposed,  resumed. 

Lesson  19.  Rules  18,  17,  and  9.  Etymological  Exercise  :  foppish,  perforce,, 
benighted,  airy,  buoyant,  leafy,  tuneful,  concord,  prolong^  rapturoutj^ 


28  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Lesson  20.  Rules  1  and  2.  Etymological  Exercise  :  extraordinary,  repose, 
relumed,  rocky,  departure,  innate,  recognise,  juvenile,  numerous,  affect,  untow- 
ard, continue,  restless,  subsist,  betake,  painful. 

Lesson  21.  Rules  9  and  11.  Etymological  Exercise :  intensely,  poetical, 
succeeded,  donor,  guidarice,  tviihdrew. 

Lesson  22.  Rule  15.  Etymological  Exercise  :  describe,  assisted,  desirous, 
different,  appearance,  continue,  regained. 

Lesson  23.  Rules  16  and  4.  Etymological  Exercise  :  boundless,  stillness, 
awful,  mighty,  grizzly. 

Lesson  24.  Rules  12  and  13.  Etymological  Exercise:  tenant,  nonstnse, 
discontent,  possession,  fulfil,  assigned,  unfitted. 

Lesson  25.  Rules  12  and  13.  Etymological  Exercise  :  advantage,  mis- 
doubteth,  ignoble,  inconstancy,  destruction,  doubtful,  fabulous. 

Lesson  26.   Rule  4.     Etymological  Exercise  :  overhanging,  distant. 

Lesson  27.  Rules  4  and  5.  Etymological  Exercise  :  sijnilar,  importance, 
unsheltered,  perform,  preparation. 

Lesson  2S.  Rules  10  and  11.  Etymological  Exercise:  beautiful,  chilly, 
temperate,  triumphant,  evergreens,  inspiration,  equinox. 

Lessfin  29.  Rules  16  and  4.  Etymological  Exercise  :  eternity,  mighty, 
soundless,  sonorous. 

Lesson  30.  Rule  3.  Etymological  Exacise  :  mirthful,  unearthly,  midnight, 
finally,  forever. 

Lesson  31.  Rule  14.  Etymological  Exercise  :  desolate,  brilliant,  preceding, 
isolated,  objects,  restless,  extraordinary,  fanciful,  impressive. 

Lesson  32.  Rule  1.  Etymological  Exercise  :  pristine,  excited,  irregular,  de- 
pendent, dissembler,  comparatively. 

Lesson  33.  Rule  10  and  15.  Etymological  Exercise  :  constructed,  succeeds, 
excites,  enjoy. 

Lesson  S4..  Rule  9.  Etymological  Exercise:  designed,  interrupt,  uneasy, 
discoursing,  subject,  useful,  disturb. 

Lesson  35.  Rule  16.     Etymological  Exercise  :  overhead,  lonely. 

Lesson  36.  Rule  18.  Etymological  Exercise:  immense,  detach,  luxurious, 
surpass,  importani,  discover,  mutable,  aspirations,  advance. 

Lesson  37.  Rules  15  and  17.  Etymological  Exercise  :  deserve,  produce, 
useful,  productive,  mistake. 

Lesson  38.  Rule  3.  Etymological  Exercise  :  excited,  importance,  commit- 
ted, confounded,  return. 

Lesson  39.  Rules  15,  11,  12.  Etymological  Exercise:  riotous,  mighty, 
worthy,  compassion. 

QCr*  It  cannot  be  necessary  to  extend  these  suggestions.  The  author  has 
only  to  add,  that  he  recommends  the  observation  of  the  following  system  : 

1.  Let  the  pupil  be  required  to  spell  and  define  tiie  principal  words. 

2.  Let  words  often  pronounced  wrong,  be  pointed  out  to  the  pupil  as  they 
occur,  and  let  him  b^^requently  required  to  read  over  with  attention  the 
faults  in  pronunciati<^|Bllected  under  Rule  2. 

3.  Let  the  pupil  be  required  to  tell  where  places  mentioned  are,  and  who 
persons  mentioned  are  ;  and  also  to  tell  the  general  drift  of  the  lesson,  so  as 
to  show  that  he  clearly  understands  it. 

4.  Let  him  be  required  to  make  an  analysis  of  the  compound  words,  in 
the  manner  pointed  out  in  the  preceding  etymological  exercises.  Let  this  be 
extended  or  contracted,  to  suit  the  capacity  of  the  pupil 

5.  In  studying  and  reading  a  lesson,  let  some  one  or  more  of  the  rules  be 
kept  particularly  in  mind  by  the  pupil  ;  and  let  him  be  required  to  repeat 
the  rule,  and  assign  the  reason  for  it. 

i^  Let  these  five  things  be  done  in  respect  to  each  lesson. 


V 


THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  I.     Petition  to  the  Reader. 

1.  Come,  youthful  reader,  lend  a  listening  ear, 
And  the  petition  of  these  pages  hear ! 

For, though  a  book,  methinks  't  is  no  offence 
To  speak  to  thee  as  if  with  soul  and  sense. 

2.  One  word  allow,  thy  favor  to  invite 

For  these  light  leaves,  unsullied  now  and  white. 
Wouldst  thou  possess  a  fair  and  comely  face  ? 
Then  do  not  mark  my  visage  with  disgrace ! 

3.  Let  no  dog's  ears  on  these  square  corners  be, 
No  greasy  thumb-marks  make  me  blush  for  thee  : 
No  inky  spot,  no  idle  scrawl,  declare, 

That  book  and  reader  need  a  master's  care. 

4.  This  said,  I  fain  would  win  thy  listening  heart, 
Some  deeper,  better  meaning  to  impart. 
Come,  let  thy  fancy  stray  awhile  with  me. 

In  search  of  knowledge  ranging  far  and  free ! 

6.  The  West  we  seek,  where  boundless  prairies  lie ; 
'T  is  spread  before  us,  bright  to  fancy's  eye ! 
Here  roams  the  savage  ;  let  us  each  draw  near. 
To  mark  his  aspect  and  his  voice  to  hear. 

6.  How  wild  and  fierce  the  warrior's  kitidled  eye  ! 
How  shrill  his  war-whoop,  piercing  to  the  sky ! 

His  home,  —  the  wigwam,  —  oh  how  sad  the  scene  I 
His  wife  a  slave,  —  his  children  all  unclean  ! 

7.  No  school  is  there,  —  no  church  with  lofty  spire, 
Pointing  to  heaven,  and  hallowing  man's  desire. 
No  holy  prayer  goes  up  to  Mercy's  throne ; 

No  soothing  hymn,  no  gentle  love  is  known, 
3* 


30  I'^i?   FO^URTH  READER. 

8..,F'ieice^  scl§sh  ^ssioiis  reign,  —  and  all  declares, 
' .  'The-  untatoreid  savage  rough  as  wrestling  bears. 
And  why  is  this  ?  Go  search  in  every  nook, 
Thou  canst  not  find  among  them  all  a  book  ! 

9.  Oh,  could  they  read,  how  soon  't  would  change  their  plan, 
And  the  wild  Indian  turn  to  Christian  man ! 
How  soon  the  darkness  from  his  mind  would  fly. 
And  the  bright  sun  of  knowledge  light  his' sky  ! 

10.  Books  would  reveal  the  God  that  dwells  above, 
Unfold  man's  duty,  —  justice,  truth,  and  love: 
Would  teach  the  blissful  toil  and  arts  of  peace. 
Life's  snares  to  shun,  life's  pleasures  to  increase. 

11.  Come  now,  fair  reader,  our  light  journey  o'er. 
One  word  of  inference,  and  I  say  no  more. 
Knowledge  is  power,  and  books  that  knowledge  hold, 
But  you  must  delve  for  knowledge  as  for  gold. 

12.  All  that  is  good,  —  't  is  Heaven's  wise  decree, — 
We  win  by  toil,  and  all  to  this  is  free. 

Study  these  pages,  be  thy  friend  and  mine, — 
And  all  my  gathered  stores  are  freely  thine. 


LESSON   IL      The  Fox  and  Elephant. 

1.  I  AM  sorry  to  say  that  a  great  many  people  listen  with 
more  pleasure  to  a  lively  tale,  that  is  full  of  cunning,  wit, 
and  scandal,  than  to  a  wise  discourse,  which  teaches  truth 
and  inculcates  virtue.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  the  fable 
of  the  elephant  and  fox. 

2.  These  two  animals  fell  into  dispute,  as  to  which  had 
the  greatest  powers  of  persuasion  ;  and,  as  they  could  not 
settle  the  matter  themselves,  it  was  agreed  to  call  an  assem- 
bly of  the  beasts  and  let  them  decide  it.  These  w^ere  ac- 
cordingly summoned ;  and,  when  the  tiger,  porcupine,  dog, 
ox,  panther,  goat,  and  the  rest  of  the  quadruped  family  had 
all  taken  their  places,  the  elephant  began  his  oration, 

3.  He  discoursed  very   eloquently  upon   the   beauty  of 


THE  FOX   AND  ELEPHANT.  31 

truth,  justice,  and  mercy,  and  set  forth  the  enormity  of  false- 
hood, cunning,  selfishness,  and  cruelty.  A  few  of  the  wiser 
beasts  listened  with  interest  and  approbation;  but  the  leop- 
ard, tiger,  porcupine,  and  a  large  majority  of  the  audience, 
yawned,  and  showed  that  they  thought  it  a  very  stupid  piece 
of  business. 

4.  But,  when  the  fox  began  to  tell  his  cunning  knaveries, 
they  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  listened  with  a  lively  inter- 
est- As  he  went  on  to  relate  his  various  adventures,  how 
he  had  robbed  hen-roosts,  and  plundered  geese  and  ducks 
from  the  poultry-yard,  and  how,  by  various  cunning  artifices, 
he  had  escaped  detection,  they  manifested  the  greatest  de- 
light. So  the  fox  proceeded,  sneering  at  the  elephant  and  all 
others  who  loved  justice,  truth,  and  mercy,  and  recommend- 
ed to  his  listeners  to  foll6w  the  pleasures  of  thievery  and 
plunder.  As  he  closed  his  discourse,  there  was  a  loud  burst 
of  applause,  and,  on  counting  the  votes,  the  majority  was 
found  to  be  in  favor  of  the  fox. 

5.  The  assembly  broke  up,  and  some  months  passed 
away,  when,  as  the  elephant  was  quietly  browsing  in  the 
woods  one  day,  he  heard  a  piteous  moan  at  a  little  distance. 
Proceeding  to  the  place  from  which  the  sound  came,  he 
there  found  the  orator  fox,  caught  in  a  trap,  with  both  his 
hinder  legs  broken,  and  sadly  mangled. 

6.  "  So,"  said  the  fox,  sharply,  though  he  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted with  pain,  "you  have  come  to  jeer  at  me,  in  my 
hour  of  trouble."  "  Surely  net,"  said  the  elephant.  "  I 
would  relieve  your  pain  if  1  could,  but  your  legs  are  broken, 
and  there  is  no  relief  for  you  but  death." 

7.  "  True,"  said  the  fox,  mournfully,  "  and  I  now  admit 
the  foolish  policy  of  those  principles  I  have  avowed,  and  the 
practice  which  resulted  from  them.  I  have  lived  a  gay 
life,  though  even  my  gayety  has  been  sadly  shadowed  by 
perpetual  fear  of  what  has  now  come  upon  me.  Had  I  been 
satisfied  with  an  honest  life  and  innocent  pleasures,  I  had 
not  thus  come  to  a  miserable  end.  Knavery,  artifice,  and 
cunning,  may  be  very  good  topics  with  which  to  delude 
those  who  are  inclined  to  be  vicious,  but  they  furnish  mis- 
erable rules  to  live  and  die  by." 


it^         W 


32  THE   FOURTH   READER. 


LESSON  III.     The  Twins, 

1.  In  tlie  autumn  of  1826,  I  had  occasion  to  visit  the 

town  of  N ,  beautifully  situated  on  the  west  bank  of  the 

Connecticut  River.  My  business  led  me  to  the  house  of 
B ,  a  lawyer  of  threescore  and  ten,  who  was  now  rest- 
ing from  the  labors,  and  enjoying  the  fruits,  of  a  life  strenu- 
ously and  successfully  devoted  to  his  profession.  His  draw- 
ing-room was  richly  furnished,  and  decorated  with  several 
valuable  paintings. 

2.  There  was  one  among  them  that  particularly  attracted 
my  attention.  It  represented  a  mother  with  two  children, 
one  in  either  arm,  a  light  veil  thrown  over  the  group,  and 
one  of  the  children  pressing  its  lips  to  the  cheek  of  its 
mother.  *'  That,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the  picture,  "  is  very 
beautiful.     Pray,  Sir,  what  is  the  subject  of  it  ?  " 

3.  "It  is  a  mother  and  her  twins,"  said  he;  "  the  pic- 
ture in  itself  is  esteemed  a  fine  one,  but  I  value  it  more  for 
the  recollections  which  are  associated  with  it."     I  turned 

my  eye  upon    B ;    he   looked    communicative,    and    I 

asked  him  for  the  story.  "Sit  down,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will 
tell  it."  We  accordingly  sat  down,  and  he  gave  me  the 
following  narrative. 

4.  •*  During  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  there  resided, 
in  the  western  part  of  Massachusetts,  a  farmer  by  the 
name  of  Stedman.  He  was  a  man  of  substance,  de- 
scended from  a  very  respectable  English  family,  well  edu- 
cated, distinguished  for  great  firmness  of  character  in  gener- 
al, and  alike  remarkable  for  inflexible  integrity  and  stead- 
fast loyalty  to  the  king. 

5.  *'  Such  was  the  reputation  he  sustained,  that  even  when 
the  most  violent  antipathies  against  royalists  swayed  the 
community,  it  was  still  admitted  on  all  hands,  that  farmer 
Stedman,  though  a  Tory,  was  honest  in  his  opinions,  and 
firmly  believed  them  to  be  right. 

6.  "  The  period  came  when  Burgoyne  was  advancing 
from  the  north.  It  was  a  time  of  great  anxiety  with  both 
the  friends  and  foes  of  the  Revolution,  and  one  which  called 
forth  their  highest  exertions.  The  patriotic  militia  flocked 
to  the  standard  of  Gates  and  Stark,  while  many  of  the  Tories 
resorted  to  the  quarters  of  Burgoyne  and  Baum.  Among 
the  latter  was  Stedman. 


THE  TWINS.  33 

7.  "  He  had  no  sooner  decided  it  to  be  his  duty,  than  he 
took  a  kind  farewell  of  his  wife,  a  woman  of  uncommon 
beauty;  gave  his  children,  a  twin  boy  and  girl,  a  long  em- 
brace, then  mounted  his  horse  and  departed.  He  joined 
himself  to  the  unfortunate  expedition  of  Baum,  and  was 
taken  with  other  prisoners  of  war  by  the  victorious  Stark. 

8.  **  He  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  name  or  charac- 
ter, which  were  both  soon  discovered,  and  he  was  accord- 
ingly committed  to  prison  as  a  traitor.  The  gaol  in  which 
he  was  confined  was  in  the  western  part  of  Massachusetts, 
and  nearly  in  a  ruinous  condition.  The  farmer  was  one 
night  waked  from  his  sleep  by  several  persons  in  his  room. 

*  Come,'  said  they,  'you  can  now  regain  your  liberty;  we 
have  made  a  breach  in  the  prison  through  which  you  can 
escape,' 

9.  "  To  their  astonishment,  he  utterly  refused  to  leave  his 
prison.  In  vain  they  expostulated  with  him ;  in  vain  they 
represented  to  him  that  his  life  was  at  stake.  His  reply  was, 
that  he  was  a  true  man,  and  a  servant  of  king  George,  and 
he  would  not  creep  out  of  a  hole  at  night,  and  sneak  away 
from  the  rebels,  to  save  his  neck  from  the  gallows.  Finding 
it  fruitless  to  attempt  to  move  him,  his  friends  left  him  with 
some  expressions  of  spleen. 

10.  "  The  time  at  length  arrived  for  the  trial  of  the  prison- 
er. The  distance  to  the  place,  where  the  court  was  sitting, 
was  about  sixty  miles.  Stedman  remarked  to  the  sheriff, 
that  it  would  save  some  expense  if  he  could  be  permitted  to 
go  alone,   and  on   foot.     *  And  suppose,'  said   the   sheriff, 

*  that  you  should  prefer  your  safety  to  your  honor,  and  leave 
me  to  seek  you  in  the  British  camp  ? ' 

11.  "'I  had  thought,'  said  the  farmer,  reddening  with  in- 
dignation, '  that  I  was  speaking  to  one  who  knew  me.'  *  I 
do  know  you,  indeed,'  said  the  sheriff,  '  I  spoke  but  in  jest ; 
you  shall  have  your  own  way.     Go  !  and  on  the  third  day  I 

shall  expect  to  see  you   at  S .*     The  farmer  departed, 

and,  at  the  appointed  time,  he  placed  himself  in  the  hands 
of  the  sheriff. 

12.  "  I  was  now  engaged  as  his  counsel.  Stedman  in- 
sisted before  the  court  upon  telling  his  whole  story  ;  and, 
when  I  would  have  taken  advantage  of  some  technical 
points,  he  sharply  rebuked  me,  and  told  me  that  he  had  not 
employed  me  to  prevaricate,  but  only  to  assist  him  in  telling 


84  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

the  truth.     I  had  never  seen  such  a  display  of  simplejn 
tegnty. 

13.  *'It  was  affecting  to  witness  his  love  of  holy,  unvar- 
nished truth,  elevating  him  above  every  other  consideration, 
and  presiding  in  his  breast  as  a  sentiment  even  superior  to 
the  love  of  life.  I  saw  the  tears  more  than  once  springing 
to  the  eyes  of  his  judges  ;  never  before  or  since  have  I  felt 
such  interest  in  a  client,  — I  pleaded  for  him  as  I  would  have 
pleaded  for  my  own  life,  —  I  drew  tears,  but  I  could  not  sway 
the  judgment  of  stern  men,  controlled  rather  by  a  sense  oi 
duty,  than  by  the  compassionate  promptings  of  humanity. 

14.  "  Stedma-n  was  condemned.  I  told  hira  there  was  a 
chance  of  pardon  if  he  asked  ibr  it.  J  drew  up  a  petition 
and  requested  him  to  sign  it,  but  he  refused.  '  I  have  done,' 
said  he,  *  what  I  thought  my  duty.  I  can  ask  pardon 
of  my  God,  and  my  king ;  but  it  would  be  hypocrisy  to  ask 
forgiveness  of  these  men  for  an  action  which  I  should  re- 
peat, were  I  placed  again  in  similar  circumstances. 

15.  ***No!  ask  me  not  to  sign  that  petitioa.  If  what 
you  call  the  cause  of  American  freedom  requires  the  blood 
of  an  honest  man  for  a  eoiiscientiou^  discliarge  of  what  he 
deemed  his  duty,  let  me  be  its  victim.  Go  to  my  judges  and 
tell  them,  that  I  place  not  my  fears  nor  my  liopes  in  them.' 
It  was  in  vain  tliat  I  pressed  the  subject,  and  I  went  away 
in  despair. 

16.  *'  In  returning  to  my  house,  I  accidentally  called  on 
an  acquaintance,  a  young  man  of  brilliant  genius,  the  sub- 
ject of  a  passionate  predilection  for  painting.  This  led  him 
frequently  to  take  excursions  into  the  country,,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  sketching  such  objects  and  scenes  as  were  interest-^ 
ing  to  him.  From  one  of  these  rambles  he  had  just  returned. 
I  found  hini  sitting  at  his  easel,  giving  the*  last  touches  ta 
the  picture  which  has  just  attracted  ycHir  attention. 

17.  "He  asked  my  opinion  of  it.  *  It  is  a  fine  picture/ 
said  I ;  '  is  it  a  fancy  piece,  or  are  they  portraits  ?  *  '  They 
are  portraits,'  said  he,  '  and,  save  perhaps  a  little  embellish* 
ment,  they  are,  I  think,  striking  portraits  of  the  wife  and 
children  of  your  unfortunate  client,  Stedman.  In  the  course 

of  my  rambles,  I  chanced  to  call  at  his  house  in  H .     I 

never  saw  a  more  beautiful  group.     The  mother  is  one  of  a 
thousand,  and  the  twins  are  a  pair  of  cherubs.' 

18.  "'Tell  me,'  said  Inlaying  my  hand  on  the  picture. 


THE  WOUNDED    ROBIN.  35 

*  tell  me,  are  they  true  and  faithful  portraits  of  the  wife  and 
children  of  Stedman  ? '  My  earnestness  made  my  friend 
stare.  He  assured  me,  that,  so  far  as  he  could  be  permitted 
to  judge  of  his  own  productions,  they  were  striking  repre- 
sentations. I  asked  no  further  question^ ;  I  seized  the  pic- 
ture, and  hurried  with  it  to  the  prison,  where  my  client  was 
confined. 

19.  "I  found  him  sitting,  his  face  covered  with  his  hands, 
and  apparently  wrung  by  keen  emotion.  I  placed  the  pic- 
ture in  such  a  situation  that  he  could  not  fail  to  see  it.  I 
laid  the  petition  on  the  little  table  by  his  side,  and  left  the 
room. 

20.  *'  In  half  an  hour  I  returned.  The  farmer  grasped 
my  hand,  while  tears  stole  down  his  cheeks;  his  eye  glanced 
first  upon  the  picture,  and  then  to  the  petition.  He  said 
nothing,  but  handed  the  latter  to  me.  I  took  it  and  left  the 
apartment.  His  name  was  fairly  written  at  the  bottom !  The 
petition  was  granted,  and  Stedman  was  set  at  liberty." 


LESSON  IV.      The  Wounded  Robin. 

1.  Why,  pretty  robin,  why  so  late 

Prolong  thy  lingering  stay? 
Why,  with  thy  little  whistling  mate, 
Art  thou  not  far  away  ? 

2.  Away  beneath  some  sunny  sky. 

Where  winter  ne'er  is  known ; 
Where  flowers,  that  never  seem  to  die, 
Down  sloping  hills  are  strown  1 

3.  Thou  shiverest  in  the  bitter  gaiC, 

And  hast  a  piteous  air  ; 
And  thy  lone  plaint  doth  seem  a  ta  e 
Of  sorrow  and  of  care 

4.  Say,  is  thy  frame  with  hunger  sn&icen. 

Or  hast  thou  lost  thy  way  ? 
Or  art  thou  sick,  and,  here  forsaicen. 
Despairing  dost  thou  stay  ? 


36  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

5.  Alas,  I  see  thy  little  wing 

Is  broken,  and  thou  canst  not  fly  ; 
And  here,  poor,  trembling,  helpless  thing 
Thou  waitest  but  to  die. 

6.  Nay,  little  flutterer,  do  not  fear  r 

I  '11  take  thee  to  niy  breast, 
I  '11  bear  thee  home,  thy  heart  I  'il  cheer. 
And  thou  shalt  be  at  rest. 

7.  And  oh,  when  sorrow  through  my  heart 

With  bitterness  is  sent, 
May  some  kind  friend  relieve  the  smart. 
And  give  me  back  content. 

8.  And  in  that  sad  and  gloomy  hour, 

When  the  spirit's  wing  is  broken, 
And  disappointment's  wintry  shower 
Hath  left  no  verdant  token, 

9.  To  bloom  with  happy  hopes  of  spring,  — 

Then  may  some  angel  come. 
And  bear  me  on  a  heavenward  wing. 
To  a  sweet  and  peaceful  home. 


LESSON  V.      The  Violet  and  the  Nightshade;  a  Fable. 

1.  A  MODEST  little  violet  once  grew  by  the  side  of  a 
flaunting  nightshade.  This  latter  flower  was  in  full  bloom, 
and,  proud  of  its  splendor,  could  not  forbear  looking  down 
with  contempt  upon  its  humble  neighbor ;  at  the  same 
time,  it  spoke  as  follows : 

2.  "Pray,  what  are  you  doing  down  there,  my  poor 
neighbor  Violet?  It  seems  to  me,  that  you  must  have  a 
dull  time  of  it,  livmg  such  an  humble  life  as  you  do.  It  is 
quite  different  with  me.  Do  you  observe  my  proud  leaves, 
and  splendid  b'ossoms?  It  is  really  delightful  to  possess 
such  rare  beauty,  and  to  be  conscious  of  the  power  to  ex- 
tort admiration  frcm  a'l  we  meet.  How  hard  it  must  be  to 
dwell  in  obscurity,  and  be  treated  with  indifference  or 
scorn !  " 


AN   ESCAPE.  57 

3.  "  Nay,  neighbor  Nightshade,"  said  the  violet  in  re 
ply,  "do  not  trouble  yourself  on  my  account.  However 
humble  my  lot  may  be,  I  am  at  least  content.  Though  I 
have  not  your  splendor,  and  cannot  expect  to  dazzle  the 
eyes  of  anybody,  still  I  have  the  power  by  my  perfume  to 
afford  gratification  to  those  who  are  fond  of  simple  pleas- 
ures ;  and,  if  I  can  do  no  great  good,  I  am  also  incapable  of 
doing  harm.  You  are,  doubtless,  very  splendid ;  but  I  am 
told,  that  you  have  a  mischievous  disposition,  and  poison 
those  who  come  within  your  reach.  If,  therefore,  I  cannot 
imitate  your  magnificence,  I  have  at  least  the  advantage  of 
being  innocent." 

4.  While  the  two  flowers  thus  communed  with  each  oth- 
er, a  mother  with  her  two  children  chanced  to  be  passing 
by.  The  children  both  noticed  the  nightshade,  and  were 
about  to  pluck  its  blossoms,  when  the  lady  told  them  to  be- 
ware. **  That  flower,"  said  she,  *'  though  beautiful  to  the 
sight,  is  a  deadly  poison.  Remember,  my  children,  that 
what  is  beautiful  to  view,  is  often  dangerous  to  the  touch. 
Do  you  see  that  little  violet,  modestly  crouching  at  the  side 
of  the  gorgeous  nightshade?  To  my  mind,  it  is  much  the 
more  pleasing  of  the  two ;  for  it  is  not  only  very  pretty,  but 
it  has  a  sweet  breath,  and  is  perfectly  harmless. 

5.  ''  Let  this  little  scene  be  a  lesson  to  you.  When  you 
see  any  one  who  is  either  rich  or  beautiful,  and  who  is  yet 
unkind,  ungenerous,  or  wicked,  remember  the  deadly  night- 
shade. When  you  see  one  who  is  innocent,  pure,  and 
true,  though  humble  and  poor,  remember  the  fragrant, 
but  unpretending  violet." 


LESSON  VI.     An  Escape, 

1.  It  was  the  afternoon  of  an  autumn  day,  and  my  jour- 
ney led  me  over  a  range  of  low,  broken  hills,  that  skirt  the 
southern  border  of  the  Ohio,  not  far  from  its  junction  with 
the  Mississippi.  The  path  was  narrow,  and  but  little  trav- 
elled, and  wound  with  a  devious  course  amid  open  prairies, 
knolls  covered  with  dwarf  trees,  and  glades  of  thick  forest. 

2.  1  had  pursued  my  way  for  several  hours,  without  se^* 
ing  a  human  being,  or  observing  a  human  habitation      But 

4 


38  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

I  did  not  regret  their  absence,  for  solitude  often  feeds  the 
mind  better  than  society.  I  left  my  horse  to  choose  his 
way  and  determine  his  pace ;  and,  musing  on  things  far  and 
near,  as  they  came  pouring  through  my  imagination,  I  pro- 
ceeded on  my  journey. 

3.  It  was  at  a  late  hour,  and  with  a  feeling  of  some  sur- 
prise, that  I  at  length  observed  a  thunder-cloud  spread  over 
the  western  sky,  and  already  shooting  down  its  lightning  up- 
on the  tops  of  the  distant  hills.  Its  grey  masses  were 
whirling  in  the  heavens,  as  if  agitated  by  the  breath  of  a 
hurricane ;  and  the  mist  that  streamed  down  from  its  lower 
edge  declared  that  it  was  full  of  rain.  It  was  idle  for  me  to 
turn  back,  with  the  expectation  of  finding  any  other  shelter 
than  what  the  forest  might  afford;  I  therefore  pushed  on,  in 
the  hope  of  reaching  some  hut  or  house,  before  the  tempest 
should  burst  upon  me, 

4.  I  had  scarcely  taken  this  resolution,  when  a  bolt  of 
lightning  fell  upon  a  tall  tree,  at  no  great  distance,  at  the 
same  time  ploughing  a  deep  furrow  in  its  trunk,  and  scatter- 
ing the  kindled  fragments  around  in  every  direction.  There 
was  a  momentary  pause,  and  then  a  rush  of  wind  that  made 
the  firmest  oak  of  the  forest  tremble  like  a  reed.  This  was 
succeeded  by  a  second  and  third  sweep  of  the  gale,  when  a 
tall  chestnut  tree,  by  the  side  of  my  path,  was  beset  by  the 
tempest.  It  wrestled  with  the  wind  for  a  moment,  like  a  gi- 
ant, but  suddenly  it  was  torn  from  its  place,  and  thrown 
over  exactly  in  the  direction  where  I  chanced  at  the  mo- 
ment to  be. 

5.  I  heard  the  sound,  and  saw  the  falling  tree ;  and,  be- 
lieving that  I  must  inevitably  be  crushed,  felt  that  momen- 
tary stupor  which  often  attends  the  first  discovery  of  instant 
peril.  But  the  instinct  of  my  horse  was  not  thus  paralyzed. 
He,  too,  saw  the  descending  mass,  and  with  a  bound,  placed 
himself  and  me  out  of  danger.  But  the  branches,  as  they 
fell,  grazed  his  back,  and  his  tail  had  well  nigh  shared  the 
fate  of  that  which  once  adorned  Tam  O'Shanter's  mare. 

6.  This,  however,  was  the  only  adventure  we  met  with; 
for  I  soon  arrived  at  a  small  inn,  and  there  sheltered  myself 
and  horse  from  the  torrent,  which  began  shortly  after  tQ 
pour  down  from  the  cloud. 


THE  GREEDY  FOX.  09 


LESSON  VIL     The  Greedy  Fjox;  a  Fable. 

1.  On  a  winter's  night, 

When  the  moon  shone  bright, 
Two  foxes  went  out  for  prey  j 

As  they  trotted  along, 

With  frolic  and  song 

They  cheered  their  lonely  way, 

2.  Through  the  wood  they  went, 
But  they  could  not  scent 

A  rabbit  or  goose  astray  ; 
But  at  length  they  came 
To  some  better  game, 

In  a  farmer's  barn  by  the  way. 

3.  On  a  roost  there  sat 
Some  chickens,  as  fat 

As  foxes  could  wish  for  their  dinners ; 
So  the  prowlers  found 
A  hole  by  the  ground. 

And  they  both  went  in,  the  sinners ! 

4.  They  both  went  in 

With  a  squeeze  and  a  grin. 

And  the  chickens  were  quickly  killed-; 
And  one  of  them  lunched. 
And  feasted  and  munched. 

Till  his  stomach  was  fairly  filled. 

5.  The  other,  more  wise, 
Looked  about  with  both  eyes. 

And  hardly  would  eat  at  all ; 
For  as  he  came  in. 
With  a  squeeze  and  a  grin. 

He  remarked,  that  the  hole  was  sma.^ 

6.  And  the  cunning  elf 
He  said  to  hitnself. 


40  THE    FOURTH   READER- 

"  If  I  eat  too  much,  it 's  plain, 
As  the  hole  is  small, 
I  shall  stick  in  the  wall, 
And  never  get  out  again." 

7.  Thus  matters  went  on 
Till  the  night  was  gone. 

And  the  farmer  came  out  with  a  pole ; 
The  foxes  both  flew» 
And  one  went  through, 

But  the  greedy  one  stuck  in  the  hole ! 

8.  In  the  hole  he  stuck, 
So  full  was  his  pluck 

Of  the  chickens  he  had  been  eating ; 
He  could  not  get  out 
Or  turn  about, 

And  there  he  was  killed  by  beating, 

9.  Thus  the  fox,  you  see. 
So  greedy  was  he. 

Lost  his  life  for  a  single  dinner. 
Now  I  hope  that  you 
May  believe  it  true. 

And  never  be  such  a  sinner ! 


LESSON    VIII.     The  Last  of  the  Mamelukes. 

1.  The  Mamelukes  were  a  powerful  body  of  soldiers,  that 
had  long  been  in  the  service  of  the  Pacha  of  Egypt.  A 
few  years  since,  the  Pacha,  or  chief  of  that  country,  find- 
ing them  troublesome  and  dangerous  to  his  power,  deter- 
mined to  destroy  them.  Accordingly,  they  were  invited  to 
a  feast  in  a  citadel,  the  place  being  surrounded  by  the  Pa- 
cha's garrison,  except  on  one  side,  where  there  was  a  deep 
precipice. 

2.  They  came,  according  to  custom,  superbly  mounted 
on  the  finest  horses,  and  in  their  richest  costume.  At  a 
signal  given  by  the  Pacha,  death  burst  forth  on  all  sides. 
Crossing  and  enfilading  batteries  poured  forth  their  flaroe 


RUBENS  AND  THE  SPANISH  MONK.  41 

and  iron,  and  men  and  horses  were  at  once  weltering  in 
their  blood. 

3.  Many  precipitated  themselves  from  the  summit  of  the  cit- 
adel, and  were  destroyed  in  the  abyss  below.  Two,  however, 
recovered  themselves.  At  the  first  shock  of  the  concussion 
both  horses  and  riders  were  stunned ;  they  trembled  for  an 
instant,  like  equestrian  riders  shaken  by  an  earthquake,  and 
then  darted  off  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning ;  they  passed 
the  nearest  gate,  which  fortunately  was  not  closed,  and 
found  themselves  out  of  Cairo.  One  of  the  fugitives  took  the 
road  to  Ell  Azish,  the  other  darted  up  the  mountains.  The 
pursuers  divided,  one  half  following  each. 

4.  It  was  a  fearful  thing,  that  race  for  life  and  death ' 
The  steeds  of  the  desert,  let  loose  on  the  mountains,  bound- 
ed from  rock  to  rock,  forded  torrents,  or  sped  along  the  edges 
of  precipices.  Three  times  the  horse  of  one  Mameluke 
fell  breathless;  three  times,  hearing  the  tramp  of  the  pursu- 
ers, he  arose  and  renewed  his  flight.  He  fell  at  length  not 
to  rise  again. 

5.  His  master  exhibited  a  touching  instance  of  reciprocal 
fidelity  :  instead  of  gliding  down  the  rocks  into  some  defile, 
or  gaining  a  peak  inaccessible  to  cavalry,  he  seated  himself 
by  the  side  of  his  courser,  threw  the  bridle  over  his  arm, 
and  awaited  the  arrival  of  his  exocutioners.  They  came 
up,  and  he  fell  beneath  a  score  of  sabres,  without  a  motion 
of  resistance,  a  word  of  complaint,  or  a  prayer  for  mercy. 

6.  The  other  Mameluke,  more  fortunate  than  his  com- 
panion, traversed  Ell  Azish,  gained  the  desert,  escaped  un- 
hurt, and,  in  time,  became  the  Governor  of  Jerusalem, 
where,  at  a  later  date,  I  had  the  pleasure  to  see  him,  — the 
last  and  only  remnant  of  that  redoubtable  corps,  which, 
thirty  years  before,  rivalled  in  courage,  though  not  in  for- 
tune, the  chosen  men  of  Napoleon's  army. 


LESSON.  IX.     Kubens  and  the  Spanish  Monk. 

Rubens  waa  a  very  celebrated  painter,  born  at  Cologne,  in  1577. 

1.  One   day,    during   his   residence   in    Spain,   Rubens 
made  an  excursion  in  the  environs  of  Madrid,  accompanied 


4a  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

by  several  of  his  pupils.  He  entered  a  convent,  where  he 
observed,  with  no  small  degree  of  surprise,  in  the  choir  of 
the  chapel,  a  picture  which  bore  evidence  of  having  been 
executed  by  an  artist  of  sublime  genius.  The  picture  rep- 
resented the  death  of  a  monk,  liubens  called  his  pupils, 
showed  them  the  picture,  and  they  all  shared  the  admira- 
tion which  the  master-piece  excited  in  their  master. 

2.  **  Who  painted  this  picture  ?  "  inquired  Van  Dyck,  the 
favorite  pupiJ  of  Rubens. 

"  The  name  of  the  artist  was  inscribed  at  the  bottom 
of  the  picture,"  observed  Van  Tulden,  "  but  it  has  been 
carefully  effaced." 

3.  Rubens  sent  for  the  old  prior  of  the  convent,  and  re- 
quested that  he  would  tell  him  the  name  of  the  artist. 

"  The  painter  is  no  longer  of  this  world,"  answered  the 
monk. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Rubens,  "dead!  and  unknown! 
His  name  deserves  to  be  immortal.  It  would  have  obliterat- 
ed the  remembrance  of  mine,  —  and  yet,"  added  he,  with 
pardonable  vanity,  "  I  am  Peter  Paul  Rubens." 

4.  At  these  words  the  pale  countenance  of  the  prior  be- 
came flushed  and  animated.  His  eyes  sparkled,  and  he 
fixed  on  Rubens  a  look  which  betrayed  a  stronger  feeling 
than  curiosity.  But  this  excitement  was  merely  momenta- 
ry. The  monk  cast  down  his  eyes,  crossed  on  his  bosom 
the  arms  which  he  had  raised  ta%eaven  by  an  impulse  of 
enthusiasm,  and  repeated : 

"  The  artist  is  no  longer  of  this  world." 

5.  "  Tell  me  his  name,  father,"  exclaimed  Rubens;  "  tell 
me  his  name,  1  conjure  you,  that  I  may  repeat  it  throughout 
the  world,  and  give  to  him  the  glory  which  is  his  due  !  "  And 
Rubens,  Van  Dyck,  Jordaens,  Van  Nuel,  and  Van  Tulden, 
surrounded  the  prior,  and  earnestly  entreated  that  he  would 
tell  them  the  name  of  the  painter. 

6.  The  monk  trembled,  and  his  lips  convulsively  quivered, 
as  if  ready  to  reveal  the  secret.  Then,  making  a  solemn 
motion  with  his  hand,  he  said : 

"  Hear  me  !  you  misunderstand  what  I  said.  I  told  you 
that  the  painter  of  that  picture  was  no  longer  of  this  world, 
but  I  did  not  mean  that  he  was  dead." 

"Does  he  then  live?  Oh!  tell  us  where  we  may  find 
him  I " 


RUBENS  AND  THE  SPANISH  MONK.     43 

"He  has  renounced  the  world,  and  retired  to  a  cloister. 
He  is  a  monk." 

7.  "  A  monk,  father  !  a  monk  !  Oh  !  tell  me  then  in 
what  convent  he  is,  for  he  must  quit  it.  When  Heaven  has 
marked  a  man  with  the  stamp  of  genius,  that  man  should 
not  bury  himself  in  solitude.  God  has  given  him  a  sublime 
mission,  and  he  must  fulfil  it.  Tell  me  the  cloister  in  which 
he  is  hidden.  I  will  draw  him  from  his  retirement,  and 
show  him  the  glory  that  awaits  him.  Should  he  refuse,  I 
will  procure  an  order  from  our  holy  father,  the  Pope,  to 
make  him  return  to  the  world,  and  exercise  his  talent.  The 
Pope,  father,  is  a  kind  friend  to  me,  and  he  will  listen  to 
me." 

8.  "  I  will  neither  tell  you  his  name  nor  that  of  the  con- 
vent to  which  he  has  retired,"  replied  the  monk,  in  a  reso- 
lute tone. 

"  But  the  Pope  will  compel  you  to  do  so,"  exclaimed  Ru- 
bens, impatiently. 

9.  "  Hear  me,"  said  the  monk,  "  hear  me  in  the  name  of 
Heaven.  Can  you  imagine  that  this  man,  before  he  quitted 
the  world,  —  before  he  renounced  fortune  and  fame, — did 
not  struggle  painfully  against  thai  resolution  ?  Can  you  be- 
lieve anything  short  of  the  most  cruel  deception  and  bitter 
sorrow  could  have  brought  him  to  the  conviction  that  all 
here  below  is  mere  vanity?  Leave  him,  then,  to  die  in  the 
asylum  to  which  he  has  fled  from  the  world  and  despair. 
Besides,  all  your  efforts  would  be  fruitless.  He  would  tri- 
umphantly resist  every  temptation.  God  would  not  refuse 
him  his  aid  !  God,  who  in  his  mercy,  has  called  him  to 
himself,  will  not  dismiss  him  from  his  presence." 

10.  "  But,  father,  he  has  renounced  immortality  !  " 
"Immortality  is  nothing  in  comparison  with  eternity  ! " 
Saying  this,  the  monk  drew  his  cowl  over  his  forehead  and 

changed  the  conversation,  so  as  to  prevent  Rubens  from  fur- 
ther urging  his  plea. 

11.  The  celebrated  Flemish  artist  left  the  convent  accom- 
panied by  his  brilliant  train  of  pupils,  and  they  all  returned 
to  Madrid,  lost  in  conjectures  respecting  the  painter  whose 
name  had  been  so  obstinately  withheld  from  them. 

12.  The  prior,  who  was  himself  the  painter  of  the  pic- 
ture, returned  to  his  lonely  cell,  knelt  down  on  the  straw 
mat  which  served  as  his  bed,  and  offered  up  a  fervent  prayer 


44  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

to  Heaven.  He  then  collected  together  his  pencils,  his 
colors,  and  a  small  easel,  and  threw  them  into  a  river  which 
flowed  beneath  the  window  of  his  cell.  He  gazed  for  some 
moments  in  profound  melancholy  on  the  stream,  which  soon 
drifted  these  objects  from  his  sight.  When  they  had  disap- 
peared, he  once  more  knelt  down  to  pray  on  his  straw  mat, 
and  before  his  wooden  crucifix.  How  powerful  must  have 
been  the  struggle  in  this  man's  breast,  to  overcome  the  love 
of  fame,  and  the  strong  temptation  of  worldly  ambition  ! 


LESSON   X.     The  Jay  and  the  Owl;  a  Fable. 

1.  A  CONCEITED  jay  once  paid  a  visit  to  an  owl,  that  was 

sitting  among  some  sheaves  of  wheat  in  a  barn.  As  soon 
as  he  had  entered  and  made  a  few  observations  upon  the 
weather,  the  jay  went  on  to  tell  the  owl  of  the  many  com- 
pliments that  had  been  paid  him  by  the  various  birds  in  the 
neighborhood. 

2.  One  had  praised  his  plumage,  another  his  voice,  and 
another  his  wit.  Having  told  this  with  great  self-complacen- 
cy, all  the  time  smirking,  and  flirting  his  tail,  with  an  air  of 
vanity,  he  added,  —  "And  now,  my  dear  owl,  pray  tell  me 
sincerely  what  i/ou  think  of  me ;  for  I  know  you  are  a  true 
friend,  and  I  place  more  confidence  in  your  opinion,  than  in 
that  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world." 

3.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  or  pay  you  a  compliment?  " 
said  the  owl. 

4.  "  Oh  !  the  truth,  of  course,"  said  the  jay,  "  I  love  the 
truth,  and  hate  flattery." 

5.  "  Well,  then,"  said  the  owl,  gravely,  "  in  my  humble 
judgment,  your  dress  is  gaudy  without  taste;  your  song, 
rather  noisy  than  musical;  and  your  wit,  mere  imperti- 
nence." 

6.  The  jay,  sadly  crest-fallen,  jerked  himself  out  of  the 
barn ;  and  the  owl  wisely  remarked,  that  conceited  persons 
usually  pretend  to  hate  flattery  and  love  frankness,  but  in 
doing  this  they  are  ever  fishing  for  compliments,  and  always 
resent  the  truth  as  an  insult.  Let  all  young  people  remem- 
ber this  story. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  MAIL.  46 


LESSON  XL     The  Midnight  Mail 

1.  'T  IS  midnight,  —  all  is  peace  profound! 
But  lo !  upon  the  murmuring  ground 
The  lonely,  swelling,  hurrying  sound 

Of  distant  wheels  is  heard  I 
They  come,  — they  pause  a  moment,  —  when 
Their  charge  resigned,  they  start,  and  then 
Are  gone,  and  all  is  hushed  again, 

As  not  a  leaf  had  stirred. 

2.  Hast  thou  a  parent  far  away, 

A  beauteous  child,  to  be  thy  stay 
In  life's  decline,  —  or  sisters,  they 

Who  shared  thine  infant  glee? 
A  brother  on  a  foreign  shore, 
Whose  breast  thy  chosen  token  bore? 
Or  are  thy  treasures  wandering  o'er 

A  wide,  tumultuous  sea? 

3.  If  aught  like  these,  then  thou  must  feel 
The  rattling  of  that  reckless  wheel, 
That  brings  the  bright  or  boding  seal, 

On  every  trembling  thread, 
That  strings  thy  heart,  till  morn  appears 
To  crown  thy  hopes,  or  end  thy  fears, 
To  light  thy  smile,  or  draw  thy  tears, 

As  line  on  line  is  read. 

4.  Perhaps  thy  treasure  's  in  the  deep, 
Thy  lover  in  a  dreamless  sleep, 

Thy  brother  where  thou  canst  not  weep 

Upon  his  distant  grave  ! 
Thy  parent's  hoary  head  no  more 
May  shed  a  silver  lustre  o'er 
His  children  grouped,  —  nor  death  restore 

Thy  son  from  out  the  waves  ! 

5.  Thy  prattler's  tongue,  perhaps,  is  stilled. 
Thy  sister's  lip  is  pale  and  chilled. 

Thy  blooming  bride  perchance  has  filled 
Her  corner  of  the  toml>» 


46  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

May  be,  the  home  where  all  thy  sweet 
And  tender  recollections  meet, 
Has  shown  its  flaming  winding-sheet 
In  midnight's  awful  gloom  ! 

6.  And  while,  alternate  a'er  my  son! 
Those  cold  or  burning  wheels  will  roll 
Their  chill  or  heat,  beyond  control. 

Till  morn  shall  bring  relief,  — 

Father  in  heaven,  whate'er  may  be 

The  cup,  which  thou  hast  sent  for  me, 

I  know  't  is  good,  prepared  by  thee, 

Though  filled  with  joy  or  grief! 


LESSON  XII.     The  Widow  and  her  Son. 

1.  I  APPROACHED  the  gravc.  The  coffin  was  placed  on 
the  ground.  On  it  were  inscribed  the  name  and  age  of  the 
deceased.  ''George  Somers,  aged  26  years."  The  poor 
mother  had  been  assisted  to  kneel  down  at  the  head  of  it. 
Her  withered  hands  were  clasped,  as  if  in  prayer ;  but  I 
could  perceive,  by  a  feeble  rocking  of  the  body,  and  a  con- 
vulsive motion  of  the  lips,  that  she  was  gazing  on  the  last 
relics  of  her  son  with  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart. 

2.  Preparations  were  made  to  deposit  the  coffin  in  the 
earth.  There  was  that  bustling  stir,  which  breaks  so  harsh- 
ly on  the  feelings  of  grief  and  affliction  ;  directions  were 
given  in  the  cold  tones  of  business ;  and  there  was  the  strik- 
ing of  spades  into  sand  and  gravel;  which,  at  the  grave  of 
those  we  love,  is  of  all  sounds  the  most  writhing.  The  bus- 
tle around  seemed  to  waken  the  mother  from  a  wretched 
reverie.  She  raised  her  glazed  eyes,  and  looked  about  with 
a  faint  wildness. 

3.  As  the  men  approached  with  cords  to  lower  the  coffin 
into  the  grave,  she  wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  into  an  ago- 
ny of  grief.  "The  poor  woman,  who  attended  her,  took  her 
by  the  arm,  endeavored  to  raise  her  from  the  earth,  and  to 
whisper  something  like  consolation.  —  "Nay,  now,  —  nay 
now,  —  don*^!  take  it  so  sorelv  to  heart."     But  the  mother 


THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON,  47 

could  only  shake  her  head,  and  wring  her  hands,  as  one  not 
to  be  comforted. 

4.  As  they  lowered  the  body  into  the  earth,  the  creaking 
of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her  ;  but  when,  on  some 
accidental  obstruction,  there  was  a  jostling  of  the  coffin,  all 
the  tenderness  of  the  mother  burst  forth ;  as  if  any  harm 
could  come  to  him,  who  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  worldly 
suffering. 

5.  I  could  see  no  more,  —  my  heart  swelled  into  my 
throat,  —  my  eyes  filled  with  tears,  —  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
acting  a  barbarous  part  in  standing  by  and  gazing  idly  on 
this  scene  of  maternal  anguish.  I  wandered  to  another  part 
of  the  churchyard,  where  I  remained  until  the  funeral  train 
had  dispersed. 

6.  It  was  some  time  before  I  left  the  place.  On  my  way 
homeward,  I  met  with  the  woman  who  had  acted  as  com- 
forter ;  she  was  just  returning  from  accompanying  the 
mother  to  her  lonely  habitation,  and  I  drew  from  her  some 
particulars  connected  with  the  affecting  scene  I  had  wit- 
nessed. 

7.  The  parents  of  the  deceased  had  resided  in  the  village 
frorc.  childhood.  They  had  inhabited  one  of  the  neatest 
cottages,  and  by  various  rural  occupations,  and  the  assist- 
ance of  a  small  garden,  had  supported  themselves  credita- 
bly and  comfortably,  and  led  a  happy  and  blameless  life. 
They  had  one  son,  who  had  grown  up  to  be  the  staff  and 
pride  of  their  age. 

8.  But  unfortunately,  this  son  was  tempted,  during  a  year 
of  scarcity  and  agricultural  hardship,  to  enter  into  the  ser- 
vice of  one  of  the  small  craft  that  plied  on  a  neighboring 
river.  He  had  not  been  long  in  this  employ,  when  he  was 
entrapped  by  a  press-gang,  and  carried  off  to  sea.  His  par- 
ents received  tidings  of  his  seizure,  but  beyond  that  they 
could  learn  nothing.  It  was  the  loss  of  their  main  prop. 
The  father,  who  was  already  infirm,  grew  heartless  and  mel^- 
ancholy,  and  sunk  into  his  grave.  The  widow,  left  lonely 
in  her  age  and  feebleness,  could  no  longer  support  herself, 
and  came  upon  the  parish. 

9.  Time  passed  on,  till  one  day  she  heard  the  cottage 
door,  which  faced  the  garden,  suddenly  open.  A  stranger 
came  out,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  eagerly  and  wildly 
around.    He  was  dressed  in  seaman's  clothes,  was  emaciat- 


4d  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

ed  and  ghastly  pale,  and  bore  the  air  of  one  broken  by 
sickness  and  hardships.  He  saw  his  mother  and  hastened 
toward  her,  but  his  steps  were  faint  and  faltering ;  he  sank 
on  his  knees  before  her,  and  sobbed  like  a  child.  The  poor 
woman  gazed  upon  him  with  a  vacant  and  wandering  eye,  — . 
"  Oh  my  dear,  dear  mother !  don't  you  know  your  son  ? 
your  poor  boy  George  1" 

10.  It  was,  indeed,  the  wreck  of  her  once  noble  lad  ;  who, 
shattered  by  wounds,  by  sickness,  and  foreign  imprisonment, 
had,  at  length,  dragged  his  wasted  limbs  homeward,  to  re- 
pose among  the  scenes  of  childhood.  The  rest  of  the  story 
is  soon  told,  —  for  the  young  man  lingered  but  a  few  weeks, 
and  death  came  to  his  relief. 

11.  The  next  Sunday  after  the  funeral  I  have  described, 
I  was  at  the  village  church  ;  when  to  my  surprise,  I  saw  the 
poor  old  woman  tottering  down  the  aisle  to  her  accustomed 
seat  on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  had  made  an  effort  to 
put  on  something  like  mourning  for  her  son  ;  and  nothing 
could  be  more  touching  than  this  struggle  between  pious  al^ 
fection  and  utter  poverty  ;  a  black  ribband  or  so,  —  a  faded 
black  handkerchief,  and  one  or  two  more  such  humble  at- 
tempts to  express  by  outward  signs,  that  grief  which  passes 
show. 

12.  When  I  looked  round  upon  the  storied  monuments, 
the  stately  hatchments,  the  cold  marble  pomp,  with  which 
grandeur  mourned  magnificently  over  departed  pride,  and 
turned  to  this  poor  widow,  bowed  down  by  age  and  sorrow, 
at  the  altar  of  her  God,  and  offering  up  the  prayers  and 
praises  of  a  pious,  though  a  broken  heart,  I  felt  that  this 
living  monument  of  real  grief  was  worth  them  all. 

13.  I  related  her  story  to  some  of  the  wealthy  members 
of  the  congregation,  and  they  were  moved  by  it.  They  ex- 
erted themselves  to  render  her  situation  more  comfortable, 
and  to  lighten  her  afflictions.  It  was,  however,  but  smooth- 
ing a  few  steps  to  the  grave.  In  the  course  of  a  Sunday  or 
two  after,  she  was  missed  from  her  usual  seat  at  church,  and, 
before  I  left  the  neighborhood,  I  heard,  with  a  feeling  of 
satisfaction,  that  she  had  quietly  breathed  her  last,  and  had 
gone  to  rejoin  those  she  loved,  in  that  world  where  sorrow 
is  never  known,  and  friends  are  never  parted. 


ANECDOTES  OP   BIRDS.  49 


LESSON    XIII.     Anecdotes  of  Birds. 

1.  That  birds,  like  our  more  sedentary  and  domestic 
quadrupeds,  are  capable  of  exhibiting  attachment  to  those 
who  feed  and  attend  them,  is  undeniable.  Deprived  of  oth- 
er society,  some  of  our  more  intelligent  species,  particular- 
ly the  thrushes,  soon  learn  to  seek  out  the  company  of  their 
friends  or  protectors  of  the  human  species. 

2.  The  brown  thrush  and  mocking-bird,  become,  in  this 
way,  extremely  familiar,  cheerful,  and  capriciously  playful; 
the  former,  in  particular,  courts  the  attention  of  his  master, 
follows  his  steps,  complains  when  neglected^  flies  to  him 
when  suffered  to  be  at  large,  and  sings  and  reposes  grateful- 
ly perched  on  his  hand ;  in  short,  by  all  his  actions,  he  ap- 
pears capable  of  real  and  affectionate  attachment ;  and  is 
Jealous  of  every  rival,  particularly  any  other  bird,  which  he 
persecutes  from  his  presence  with  unceasing  hatred. 

3.  His  petulant  dislike  to  particular  objects  of  less  mo 
ment  is  also  displayed  by  various  tones  and  gestures,  which 
soon  become  sufficiently  intelligible  to  those  who  are  near 
him,  as  well  as  his  tones  of  gratulation  and  satisfaction. 
His  language  of  fear  and  surprise  could  never  be  mistaken; 
and  an  imitation  of  his  gutteral,  low  tsherr!  tsherr  !  on  these 
occasions,  answers  as  a  premonitory  warning  when  any  dan- 
ger awaits  him  from  the  sly  approach  of  cat  or  squirrel. 

4.  As  I  have  now  descended,  as  I  may  say,  to  the  actual 
biography  of  one  of  these  birds,  which  I  raised  and  kept 
uncaged  for  some  time,  I  may  also  add,  that  beside  a  play- 
ful turn  for  mischief  and  interruption,  in  which  he  would 
sometimes  snatch  off  the  paper  on  which  I  was  writing,  he 
had  a  good  degree  of  curiosity,  and  was  much  surprised  one 
day  by  a  large  springing  beetle,  which  I  had  caught  and 
placed  in  a  tumbler. 

5.  On  all  such  occasions,  his  looks  of  capricious  surprise 
were  very  amusing;  he  cautiously  approached  the  glass, 
with  fanning  and  closing  wings,  and  in  an  under  tone  con- 
fessed his  surprise  at  the  address  and  jumping  motions  of  the 
huge  insect.  At  length  he  became  bolder,  and  perceiving 
that  it  had  relation  to  his  ordinary  prey  of  beetles,  he,  with 
some  hesitation,  ventured  to  snatch  at  the  prisoner,  between 
temerity  and  playfulness.     But  when  really  alarmed  or  of- 

5 


50  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

fended,  he  instantly  flew  to  his  loftiest  perch,  forbid  all 
friendly  approaches,  and  for  some  time  kept  up  his  low  and 
angry  tsherr. 

6.  A  late  naturalist,  the  venerable  William  Bartram,  was 
also  much  amused  by  the  intelligence  displayed  by  one  of 
this  species,  and  relates,  that  being  fond  of  hard  crumbs 
of  bread,  he  found,  when  they  grated  his  throat,  a  very 
rational  remedy  by  soaking  them  in  his  vessel  of  water  ;  he 
likewise,  by  experience,  discovered,  that  the  painful  prick 
of  the  wasps,  on  which  he  fed,  could  be  obviated  by  extract- 
ing their  stings. 

7.  But  it  would  be  too  tedious  and  minute  to  follow  out 
these  glimmerings  of  intelligence,  which  exist  as  well  in 
birds  as  in  our  most  sagacious  quadrupeds.  The  remarka- 
ble talent  of  a  parrot,  for  imitating  the  tones  of  the  human 
voice,  has  long  been  familiar.  The  most  extraordinary  and 
well  authenticated  account  of  the  actions  of  one  of  the 
common  ash-colored  species,  is  that  of  a  bird  which  Colonel 
O'Kelley  bought  for  a  hundred  guineas  at  Bristol. 

8.  This  individual  not  only  repeated  a  great  number  of 
sentences,  but  answered  many  questions,  and  was  able  to 
whistle  a  variety  of  tunes.  While  thus  engaged,  it  beat 
time  with  all  the  appearance  of  science,  and  possessed  a 
judgment  or  ear  so  accurate,  that,  if  by  chance  it  mistook  a 
note,  it  would  revert  to  the  bar  where  the  mistake  was 
made,  correct  itself,  and,  still  beating  regular  time,  go  again 
through  the  whole  with  perfect  exactness. 

9.  So  celebrated  was  this  bird,  that  an  obituary  notice  of 
its  death  appeared  in  the  **  General  Evening  Post,"  for  the 
9th  of  October,  1802.  In  this  account,  it  is  added,  that  be- 
sides her  great  musical  faculties,  she  could  express  her  wants 
articulately,  and  give  her  orders  in  a  manner  approaching 
rationality.  She  was,  at  the  time  of  her  decease,  supposed  to 
be  more  than  thirty  years  of  age.  The  Colonel  was  repeat- 
edly offered  five  hundred  guineas  a  year  for  the  bird,  by 
persons  who  wished  to  make  a  public  exhibition  of  her  ;  but, 
out  of  tenderness  for  his  favorite,  he  constantly  refused  the 
offer. 

10.  The  story  related  by  Goldsmith,  of  a  parrot  belong- 
ing to  King  Henry  the  Seventh,  is  very  amusing,  and  possi- 
bly true.  It  was  kept  in  a  room  in  the  palace  of  Westminster, 
overlooking  the  Thames,  and  had  naturally  enough  learned 


ANECDOTES  OF    BIRDS.  51 

a  store  of  boatmen's  phrases.  One  day,  sporting  somewhat 
incautiously,  Poll  fell  into  the  river,  but  had  rationality 
enough,  it  appears,  to  make  a  profitable  use  of  the  words 
she  had  learned,  and  accordingly  vociferated,  "  A  boat !  twen- 
ty pounds  for  a  boat  I  "  This  welcome  sound,  reaching  the 
ears  of  a  waterman,  he  brought  assistance  to  the  parrot, 
and  delivered  it  to  the  king,  with  a  request  to  be  paid  the 
round  sum  so  readily  promised  by  the  bird ;  but  his  Majesty, 
dissatisfied  with  the  exorbitant  demand,  agreed,  at  any 
rate,  to  give  him  what  the  bird  should  now  award ;  in  an- 
swer to  which  reference,  Poll  shrewdly  cried,  "  Give  the 
knave  a  groat." 

11.  The  story  given  by  Locke,  in  his  *'  Essay  on  the  Hu- 
man Understanding,"  though  approaching  closely  to  ration- 
ality, and  apparently  improbable,  may  not  be  a  greater  effort 
than  could  have  been  accomplished  by  Colonel  O'Kelly's  bird. 
This  parrot  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Prince  Maurice, 
the  Governor  of  Brazil,  who  had  a  curiosity  to  witness  its 
powers. 

12.  The  bird  was  introduced  into  the  room,  where  sat  the 
Prince,  in  company  with  several  Dutchmen.  On  viewing 
them,  the  parrot  exclaimed,  in  Portuguese,  '*  What  a  com- 
pany of  white  men  are  here."  Pointing  to  the  Prince,  they 
asked,  "  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  to  which  the  parrot  replied, 
^*  Some  general  or  other."  The  Prince  now  asked,  "  From 
what  place  do  you  come?"  the  answer  was,  "From  Mari- 
gnan."  "  To  whom  do  you  belong  ?  "  It  answered,  *^  To  a 
Portuguese."  "  What  do  you  do  there  ? "  To  which  the 
parrot  replied,  "  I  look  after  chickens."  The  Prince,  now 
laughing,  exclaimed,  **  You  look  after  chickens ! "  To 
which  Poll  pertinently  answered,  "  Yes,  I ;  and  I  know  well 
enough  how  to  do  it ;  "  clucking  at  the  same  instant  in  the 
manner  of  a  calling  brood-hen. 

13.  The  docility  of  birds  in  catching  sounds,  depends,  of 
course,  upon  the  perfection  of  their  voice  and  hearing,  as- 
sisted also  by  no  inconsiderable  power  of  memory.  The 
imitative  actions  of  passiveness  in  some  small  birds,  such  as 
goldfinches,  linnets,  and  canaries,  are,  however,  quite  as  cu- 
rious as  their  expression  of  sounds.  A  Sieur  Roman  ex- 
hibited in  England  some  of  these  birds,  one  of  which  simu- 
lated death,  and  was  held  up  by  the  tail  or  claw,  without 
•bowing  any  active  signs  of  life.     A  second  balanced  itself 


53  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

upon  its  head,  with  its  claws  in  the  air.  A  third  imitated  a 
milkmaid  going  to  market,  with  pails  on  its  shoulders.  A 
fourth  mimicked  a  Venetian  girl,  looking  out  of  a  window. 
A  fifth  acted  the  soldier,  and  mounted  guard  as  a  sentinel, 
A  sixth  was  a  cannonier,  with  a  cap  on  its  head,  a  fire-lock 
on  its  shoulder,  and,  with  a  match  in  its  claw,  it  discharged 
a  small  cannon.  The  same  bird  also  acted  as  if  wounded  ; 
was  wheeled,  in  a  little  barrow,  as  it  were,  to  the  hospital  ; 
after  which,  it  flew  away  before  the  company.  The  seventh 
turned  a  kind  of  windmill,  and  the  last  bird  stood  amidst  a 
discharge  of  small  fire-works,  without  showing  any  signs  of 
fear. 

14.  A  similar  exhibition,  in  which  twenty-four  canary 
birds  were  the  actors,  was  also  shown  in  London  in  1820, 
by  a  Frenchman,  named  Dujon  ;  one  of  these  suffered  it^ 
self  to  be  shot  at,  and  falling  down,  as  if  dead,  was  put  into 
a  little  wheelbarrow,  and  conveyed  away  by  one  of  its  com- 
rades. 


LESSON  XIV.     To  a  Wild  Violet,  in  March, 

1.  My  pretty  flower,  how  cam'st  thou  here? 
Around  thee  all  is  sad  and  sere, — 

The  brown  leaves  tell  of  winter's  breath, 
And  all  but  thou  of  doom  and  death. 

2.  The  naked  forest  shivering  sighs,  — - 
On  yonder  hill  the  snow-wreath  lies, 
And  all  is  bleak ;  then  say,  sweet  flower. 
How  cam'st  thou  here  in  such  an  hour  1 

3.  No  tree  unfolds  its  timid  bud. 
Chill  pours  the  hill-side's  lurid  flood. 
The  tuneless  forest  all  is  dumb  ; 

How  then,  fair  violet,  didst  thou  come  ? 

4.  Spring  hath  not  scattered  yet  her  flowers, 
But  lingers  still  in  southern  bowers ; 

No  gardener's  art  hath  cherished  thee, — 
For  wild  and  lone  thou  springest  free. 


THE  CHAMELEON  AND  PORCUPINE.    53 

5.  Thou  springest  here  to  man  unknown, 
Waked  into  life  by  God  alone  ! 
Sweet  flower,  thou  tellest  well  thy  birth,  — 
Thou  cam'st  from  Heaven,  though  soiled  in  earth, 

6i  Thou  tell'st  of  Him  whose  boundless  power 
Speaks  into  birth  a  world  or  flower  ; 
And  dost  a  God  as  clearly  prove. 
As  all  the  orbs  in  Heaven  that  move. 


LESSON   XV".      The  Chameleon  and  Porcupine;  a  Fable, 

1.  A  CHAMELEON  ouce  met  a  porcupine,  and  complained, 
that  he  had  taken  great  pains  to  make  friends  with  every- 
body, but,  strange  to  say,  he  had  entirely  failed,  and  now  he 
could  not  be  sure  that  he  had  a  sincere  friend  in  the  world. 

2.  **  And  by  what  means,"  said  the  porcupme,  '*  have 
you  sought  to  make  friends?"  "By  flattery,"  said  the 
chameleon.  "  I  have  adapted  myself  to  all  I  met ;  humored 
the  follies  and  the  foibles  of  every  one.  In  order  to  make 
people  believe  that  I  liked  them,  I  have  imitated  their  man- 
ners, as  if  I  considered  them  models  of  perfection.  So  far 
have  I  gone  in  this,  that  it  has  become  a  habit  with  me,  and 
now  my  very  skin  takes  the  hue  and  complexion  of  the  thing 
that  happens  to  be  nearest.  Yet  all  this  has  been  in  vain, 
for  everybody  calls  me  a  turn-coat,  and  I  am  generally  con- 
sidered selfish,  hypocritical,  and  base." 

3.  "  And  no  doubt  you  deserve  all  this,"  said  the  porcu- 
pine. **  I  have  taken  a  different  course,  but  I  must  confess 
that  1  have  as  few  friends  as  you.  I  adopted  the  rule  to  re- 
sent every  injury,  nay,  every  encroachment  upon  my  digni- 
ty. I  would  allow  no  one  even  to  touch  me,  without  stick- 
ing into  him  one  or  more  of  my  sharp  quills.  I  determined 
to  take  care  of  number  one  ;  and  the  result  has  been,  that, 
while  I  have  vindicated  my  rights,  I  have  created  a  univer- 
sal dislike.  I  am  called  Old  Touch-me-not,  and,  if  I  am  not 
as  much  despised,  I  am  even  more  disliked,  than  you,  Sir 
Chameleon." 

4.  An  owl,  who  was  sittirior  by  and  heard  this  conversation, 
putting  his  head  a  little  on  one  side,  remarked  as  follows: 


54  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

**  Your  experience  ought  to  teach  two  valuable  lessons.  One 
is,  that  the  world  looks  upon  the  flatterer  with  contempt  and 
aversion,  because  he  seeks  to  secure  some  selfish  object  by 
making  dupes  of  others ;  and  the  other  is,  that  he,  who  re- 
sents every  little  trespass  upon  his  rights  and  feelings,  is 
sure  to  be  shunned  and  dreaded  by  all  who  are  acquainted 
with  his  disposition. 

5.  "  You,  Sir  Chameleon,  ought  to  know  by  this  time, 
that  honest  candor  is  far  better  than  deceitful  flattery.  And 
you,  Neighbor  Porcupine,  ought  never  to  forget,  that  good- 
humor  is  a  better  defence  than  an  armory  of  poisoned  quills," 


LESSON   XVI.     The  Bible;  a  Familiar  Dialogue. 

"  My  dear  papa,"  said  Mary,  one  morning,  as  they  were 
retiring  from  the  breakfast  table,  "  Charles  has  asked  me  a 
question,  which  I  think  I  can  answer,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  quite  understand  it ;  and  so  I  told  him  I  would  ask 
you  to  explain  the  difficulty." 

Papa.  That  is  quite  right,  my  child;  you  should  always 
try  yourself  first ;  and  then,  if  you  find  the  subject  above 
your  comprehension,  apply  for  the  assistance  of  those  who 
are  older  or  better  informed  than  yourself.  But  let  Charles 
state  his  difficulty. 

Charles.  I  was  reading  the  tenth  chapter  of  Proverbs, 
papa,  and  I  could  not  understand  how  two  of  the  verses 
could  both  be  true.  I  know  both  are  true,  because  both  are 
in  the  Bible ;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  there  was  some 
contradiction  in  the  two  verses  I  mean. 

P.  Well,  my  boy,  1  will  endeavor  to  explain  them.  The 
Bible  is  the  best  gift  of  God  to  man,  and  it  is  our  duty  to 
study  it  with  all  our  power.  We  must  never  pass  over  dif- 
ficulties without  trying  to  remove  them.  In  many  cases,  we 
may  not  be  fully  able  to  understand  the  subject  ;•  but  if  we 
do  our  best,  God  will  never  be  angry  with  us  for  our  igno- 
rance. Above  all,  we  must  pray  faithfully  for  the  light  and 
guidance  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  without  whose  blessing  our  la- 
bor will  be  useless,  and  our  search  vain.  Do  you  understand 
what  I  have  said,  Charles  ? 

C.  I   think   you   mean   to  say,  that  aiqc^   the  Bible  is 


THE    BIBLE.  55 

God's  best  gift,  we  ought  to  study  it  with  great  care,  and 
try  to  understand  what  appears  difficult,  and  to  pray  to  God 
to  help  us  in  our  search. 

P.  Quite  right,  my  boy.  The  wisest  man  cannot  employ 
his  time  and  talents  better  than  by  so  studying  the  Word  of 
God  as  to  be  able  to  explain  its  difficulties,  reconcile  its  ap- 
parent contradictions,  make  its  doctrines  clear  to  less  favor- 
ed minds,  and  enforce  its  precepts  on  all. 

Mary.  Papa,  I  have  been  thinking  what  was  the  reason, 
why,  if  God's  book  was  written  for  us  all,  it  was  not  so 
written  as  to  be  easily  understood  by  all ;  why  there  should  be 
any  difficulties  anywhere. 

P.  This,  my  dear  child,  is  a  very  important  point.  I  will 
try  to  show  you  plainly,  that,  if  there  are  difficulties  in  the 
Bible  which  it  requires  our  best  labor  and  care  to  overcome, 
it  is  just  the  same  with  God's  other  gifts  and  blessings.  You 
are  well  acquainted  with  the  cultivation  of  a  farm.  Now  just 
see,  what  is  the  case  there.  The  soil  is  the  gift  of  God ;  so 
is  the  seed  ;  so  are  the  sun,  the  rain,  and  the  seasons.  The 
very  skill  of  the  husbandman,  the  very  hand  with  which  he 
scatters  the  grain,  are  all  the  gifts  of  God ;  but  unless  he 
exerts  himself,  and  applies  his  skill,  and  strength,  and  care, 
in  preparing  the  ground,  and  sowing  the  seed,  and  preserv- 
ing the  growing  crop  from  animals  that  would  devour  it,  and 
in  reaping  and  gathering  the  crop  when  ripe,  he  would  be 
a  madman  to  expect  his  barns  to  be  full  of  corn  in  winter. 
These  are  difficulties,  —  they  must  be  overcome  ;  and,  unless 
they  are  overcome,  we  all  know,  that  the  sun  and  the  rain, 
acting  on  the  soil,  will  never  of  themselves  bring  forth  the 
full,  ripe  shocks  of  wheat  in  harvest  time.  So  it  is  with  the 
spiritual  gifts  of  Heaven.  It  would  be  just  as  reasonable  to 
deny  that  God  is  the  gracious  Giver  of  the  productions  of 
the  earth,  because  the  skill,  and  labor,  and  care  of  man  are 
necessary  in  their  cultivation,  as  it  would  be  to  deny  that 
the  Bible  was  his  word,  because  it  requires  much  study,  and 
research,  and  prayer,  before  we  can  draw  from  it  the  truth 
and  comfort  which  such  honest  labors,  with  God's  blessing, 
will  produce.     Now,  Charles,  let  me  hear  your  difficulty. 

C.  Well,  papa,  you  remember  I  said  it  was  in  the  tenth 
chapter  of  Proverbs ;  in  the  fourth  verse  it  is  said,  that  "  the 
hand  of  the  diligent  maketh  rich;"  but  in  the  twenty-sec- 
ond verse  we  read,  that  "  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  maketh 


56  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

rich."  I  did  not  quite  see  how  the  same  thing  can  possibly 
be  said  to  be  done  by  the  hand  of  the  diligent  man,  and  by 
the  blessing  of  the  Lord.  But  I  think  I  see  it  more  plainly 
since  I  have  heard  your  answer  to  Mary's  question. 

P.  Well,  my  boy,  I  think  I  can  reconcile  the  two  passa- 
ges without  difficulty.  But  tell  me  first  what  you  think  of  it 
yourself. 

C.  Why,  papa,  I  think  it  means  that  the  hand  of  the  dil- 
igent and  the  blessing  of  God  must  go  together  — 

P.  Stay,  Charles; — if  I  were  to  dwell  upon  it  for  an 
hour,  I  could  not  state  the  truth  more  clearly  than  you  have 
done. 

M.  But,  papa,  pray  go  on ;  I  am  sure  you  have  more  to 
tell  us  on  the  subject,  and  I  should  like  to  hear  you. 

P.  You  observe,  that  Solomon  is  here  speaking  of  the 
riches  of  this  world  ;  and  he  says,  that,  in  acquiring  them, 
we  must  be  diligent,  and  God  must  also  bless  our  endeav- 
ors. 

M.  But  I  have  often  heard  you  say,  papa,  that  riches  are 
no  proof  of  God's  favor,  and  that  poverty  does  not  show  his 
anger.     I  suppose  God  only  blesses  the  riches  of  good  men. 

P.  Exactly  so.  Solomon  speaks  to  us  very  plainly  of 
certain  riches  which  lead  to  shame  and  want.  It  is  only 
when  they  are  gained  honestly,  and  spent  charitably,  that 
they  have  God's  blessing.  The  Christian  is  happy  in  pos- 
sessing riches,  because  they  enable  him  to  do  good;  and  he 
is  contented,  if  they  are  taken  away.  Whilst  he  has  them, 
he  loves  to  employ  them  as  a  faithful  steward  of  his  heaven- 
ly Master  ;  and,  when  they  fail,  he  knows  where  he  may  take 
refuge,  and  still  be  happy.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean, 
Mary  ? 

M.  I  think  you  mean  religion,  papa.  You  have  often 
told  me,  that  God  is  our  only  sure  friend  in  sorrow  and  dis- 
appointment. 

P.  My  children,  I  will  give  you  the  only  safe  rule  of  con- 
duct. Trust  in  God,  and  rely  upon  him  just  as  entirely  as 
if  you  were  expected  to  do  nothing  of  yourselves ;  and  labor 
to  be  good  Christians,  just  as  strenuously  as  if  you  had  no 
grace  of  God  to  rely  on  at  all.  Trust  in  God,  and  do  your 
best. 


THE   WINDS.  5% 


LESSON  XVII.     The  Winds. 

1.  We  come !  we  come !  and  ye  feel  our  might, 
As  we  're  hastening  on  in  our  boundless  flight ; 
And  over  the  mountains,  and  over  the  deep, 
Our  broad,  invisible  pinions  sweep, 
Like  the  spirit  of  liberty,  wild  and  free ! 
And  ye  look  on  our  works,  and  own  't  is  we, 
Ye  call  us  the  winds ;  but  can  ye  tell 
"Whither  we  go,  or  where  we  dwell? 

%  Ye  mark,  as  we  vary  our  forms  of  power, 
And  fell  the  forests,  or  fan  the  flower  ; 
When  the  hare-bell  moves,  and  the  rush  is  bent, 
When  the  tower  's  o'erthrown,  and  the  oak  is  rent  3 
As  we  waft  the  bark  o'er  the  slumbering  wave, 
Or  hurry  its  crew  to  a  watery  grave ; 
And  ye  say  it  is  we,  but  can  ye  trace 
The  wandering  winds  to  their  secret  place  ? 

3.  And,  whether  our  breath  be  loud  and  high, 
Or  come  in  a  soft  and  balmy  sigh,  — 

Our  threatenings  fill  the  soul  with  fear, 

Or  our  gentle  whisperings  woo  the  ear 

With  music  aerial, —  still  it  is  we; 

And  ye  list,  and  ye  look ;  but  what  do  ye  see  ? 

Can  you  hush  one  sound  of  our  voice  to  peace, 

Or  waken  one  note,  when  our  numbers  cease  1 

4.  Our  dwelling  is  in  the  Almighty's  hand  ; 
We  come  and  we  go  at  his  command. 
Though  joy  or  sorrow  may  mark  our  track. 
His  will  is  our  guide,  and  we  look  not  back ; 
And  if,  in  our  wrath,  ye  would  turn  us  away, 
Or  win  us  in  gentle  airs  to  play. 

Then  lift  up  your  hearts  to  Him,  who  binds. 
Or  frees,  as  he  will,  the  obedient  winds. 


5S  THE  FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  XVIII.     The  False  Witness  Detected. 

The  scene  of  this  sketch  was  in  Germany.  Therese,  a  young  lady  of  ex- 
cellent character,  was  suspected  of  having  stolen  a  jewel,  which  was  found 

in  her  trunk.     She  was  on  trial  before  the  court.     Count ,  her  lover, 

with  many  friends,  were  present  ;  the  court-room  was  crowded,  and  the  in- 
tensest  interest  prevailed  to  know  the  issue  of  the  trial.  A  female  attendant 
of  Therese  was  the  chief  witness  ;  she  was  suspected,  however,  of  hav- 
ing stolen  the  ring,  and  opened  the  trunk  of  Therese,  and  put  it  there,  for 
the  sake  of  bringing  the  accusation  upon  her  mistress,  in  order  to  revenge 
herself  for  having  been  detected  in,  and  reproved  for,  an  attempted  theft. 
The  following  is  the  examination  of  this  witness,  The  result  shows  the  dif- 
ficulty of  concealing  crime,  and  bearing  false  witness,  with  impunity. 

1.  "Do  you  entertain  any  ill-will  toward  the  prisoner  V 
asked  Therese's  counsel  of  the  attendant. 

*'None,"  said  the  witness. 

2.  "  Have  you  ever  quarrelled  with  her  ? " 
"  No." 

"  Do  you  truly  believe  that  she  deposited  the  jewel  in  her 
trunk  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  think  ill  of  any  one." 

"  That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question  :  —  do  you  be» 
lieve  that  she  put  it  there  1 " 

"  How  else  could  it  have  come  there  1 " 

"  Answer  me,  Yes  or  No,"  said  the  advocate.  "  Do  you 
believe  that  Therese  secreted  the  jewel  in  her  trunk  ?  Yes 
or  No  ? " 

"  Yes  1 "  at  last  faltered  out  the  attendant. 

3.  "  Now,  my  girl,"  continued  the  advocate,  *'  pay  heed 
to  what  you  say ;  remember  you  are  upon  your  oath  !  Will 
you  swear  that  you  did  not  put  it  there  yourself?  "  There 
was  a  pause  and  a  profound  silence.  After  about  a  minute 
had  elapsed,  **  Well?  "  said  the  advocate.  Another  pause; 
while,  in  an  assembly  where  hundreds  of  human  hearts  were 
throbbing,  not  an  individual  stirred,  or  even  appeared  to 
breathe,  such  was  the  pitch  of  intensity  to  which  the  sus- 
pense of  the  court  was  wound  up. 

4.  "Well,"  said  the  advocate  a  second  time;  ^^  will  you 
answer  me  1  Will  you  swear,  that  you  yourself  did  not  put 
the  jewel  into  Therese's  trunk  ?  " 

**  I  will !  "  at  last  said  the  attendant,  boldly. 
"You  swear  it?" 
"  I  do." 


THE   FALSE   WITNESS    DETECTED.         59 

**  And  why  did  you  not  answer  me  at  once?  " 
"  i  do  not  like  that  such  questions  should  be  put  to  me," 
replied  the  attendant. 

5.  For  a  moment  the  advocate  was  silent.  A  feeling 
of  disappointment  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  court ;  now 
and  then  a  half-suppressed  sigh  was  heard,  and  here  and 
there  a  handkerchief  was  lifted  to  an  eye>,  which  was  no 
sooner  wiped  than  it  was  turned  again  upon  Therese  with 
an  expression  of  the  most  lively  commiseration.  The  maid 
herself  was  the  only  individual  who  appeared  perfectly  at 
her  ease :  even  the  Baroness  looked  as  if  her  firmness  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  way,  as  she  drew  closer  to  Therese, 
round  whose  waist  she  now  had  passed  her  arm. 

6.  "  You  have  done  with  the  witness  ? "  said  the  advocate 
for  the  prosecution. 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  and  reflected  for  a  moment  or 
two  longer.  At  length,  "  Have  you  any  keys  of  your  own  1 " 
said  he. 

"  I  have  !  " 

"  I  know  you  have,"  said  the  advocate.  "  Are  they  about 
you?" 

*'  Yes." 

*'  Is  not  one  of  them  broken  1  " 

After  a  pause,  "  Yes." 

7.  "  Show  them  to  me." 

The  witness,  after  searching  some  time  in  her  pocket, 
took  the  keys  out  and  presented  them. 

"  Let  the  trunk  be  brought  into  the  court,"  said  the  ad- 
vocate. 

8.  "  Now,  my  girl,"  resumed  the  advocate,  "  attend  to 
the  questions  which  1  am  going  to  put  to  you,  and  deliberate 
well  before  you  reply ;  because  1  have  those  to  produce  who 
will  answer  them  truly,  should  you  fail  to  do  so.  Were  you 
ever  in  the  service  of  a  Monsieur  St.  Ange  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  attendant,  evidently  disconcerted. 

"  Did  you  not  open,  in  that  gentleman's  house,  a  trunk 
that  was  not  your  own  1 " 

"  Yes,"  with  increased  confusion. 

"  Did  you  not  take  from  that  trunk  an  article  that  was 
not  your  own  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  put  it  back  again." 

"  I  know  you  put  it  back  again,"  said  the  advocate. 


eO  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

**  You  see,  my  girl,  I  am  acquainted  with  the  whole  affair  j 
but,  before  you  put  it  back  again,  were  you  not  aware  that 
you  were  observed  ?  " 
The  witness  was  silent. 

9.  "  Who  observed  you  ?  Was  it  not  your  mistress  ?  Did 
she  not  accuse  you  of  intended  theft  ?  Were  you  not  in- 
stantly discharged  1 "  successively  asked  the  advocate,  with- 
out eliciting  any  reply.  *' Why  do  you  not  answer,  girl?" 
peremptorily  demanded  he. 

**  If  you  are  determined  to  destroy  my  character,"  said 
the  witness,  bursting  into  tears,  "  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  advocate  ;  "  I  do  not  intend  to  de- 
stroy a  character  ;  I  mean  to  save  one,  —  one  which,  before 
you  quit  the  court,  I  shall  prove  to  be  as  free  from  soil,  as 
the  snow  of  the  arm  which  is  leaning  upon  that  bar !  "  con- 
tinued the  advocate,  pointing  towards  Therese. 

10.  The  trunk  was  here  brought  in.  *'  You  know  that 
trunk  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Whose  is  it  ?  " 
"  It  belongs  to  the  prisoner." 
**  And  these  are  your  keys?" 
*'  Yes." 

"  Were  these  keys  out  of  your  possession  the  day  before 
that  trunk  was  searched,  and  the  jewel  found  in  it?  " 
"  No." 

"  Nor  the  day  before  that  again  ?  " 
"  No." 

11.  "  Now  mind  what  you  are  saying.  You  swear,  that, 
for  two  days  preceding  the  morning  upon  which  that  trunk 
was  searched,  those  keys  were  never  once  out  of  your  own 
possession  ? " 

"  I  do." 

**  Will  not  one  of  these  keys  open  that  trunk?  " 

The  witness  was  silent. 

"  Never  mind !  we  shall  try.  As  readily  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  it ! "  resumed  the  advocate,  applying  the  key  and 
lifting  the  lid. 

12.  '*  There  may  be  fifty  keys  in  the  court  that  would  do 
the  same  thing,"  interposed  the  public  prosecutor. 

"  True,"  rejoined  his  brother ;  '*  but  this  is  not  one  of 
them,"  added  he,  holding  up  the  other  key,  "  for  she  tried 


THE   BOB-0'LINKUM.  61 

this  key  first,  and  broke,  as  you  see,  the  ward  in  the  at- 
tempt." 

"  How  will  yon  prove  that  ]  "  inquired  the  prosecutor. 

"  By  producing  the  separate  part." 

"  Where  did  you  find  it?  " 

*'  In  the  lock !  "  emphatically  exclaimed  the  advocate. 

A  groan  was  heard ;  the  witness  had  fainted.  She  was 
instantly  removed,  and  the  innocence  of  Therese  was  as 
clear  as  the  noonday  ! 


LESSON   XIX.     The  Bob-O' Linkum. 

1.  Thou  vocal  sprite,  —  thou  feathered  troubadour ! 

In  pilgrim  weeds  through  many  a  clime  a  ranger, 
Com'st  thou  to  doff  thy  russet  suit  once  more. 

And  play,  in  foppish  trim,  the  masking  stranger? 
Philosophers  may  teach  thy  whereabouts  and  nature; 

But,  wise  as  all  of  us,  perforce,  must  think  'em, 
The  school-boy  best  has  fixed  thy  nomenclature, 

And  poets,  too,  must  call  thee  Bob-O'Linkum  ! 

2.  Say !  art  thou,  long  'mid  forest  glooms  benighted. 

So  glad  to  skim  our  laughing  meadows  over, — 
With  our  gay  orchards  here  so  much  delighted. 

It  makes  thee  musical,  thou  airy  rover? 
Or  are  those  buoyant  notes  the  pilfered  treasure 

Of  fairy  isles,  which  thou  hast  learned  to  ravish 
Of  all  their  sweetest  minstrelsy  at  pleasure, 

And,  Ariel-like,  again  on  men  to  lavish? 

3.  They  tell  sad  stories  of  thy  mad-cap  freaks. 

Wherever  o'er  the  land  thy  pathway  ranges ; 
And  even  in  a  brace  of  wandering  weeks. 

They  say,  alike  thy  song  and  plumage  changes. 
Here  both  are  gay  ;  and  when  the  buds  put  forth. 

And  leafy  June  is  shading  rock  and  river. 
Thou  art  unmatched,  blithe  warbler  of  the  North, 

When  through  the  balmy  air  thy  clear  notes  quiver. 
6 


52  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

4.  Joyous,  yet  tender,  —  was  that  gush  of  song 

Learned  from  the  brooks,  where  'mid  its  wild  flowers, 
smiling, 
The  silent  prairie  listens  all  day  long, 

The  only  captive  to  such  sweet  beguiling? 
Or  didst  thou,  flitting  through  the  verdurous  halls 

And  columned  isles  of  western  groves  symphonious, 
Learn  from  the  tuneful  woods  rare  madrigals, 

To  make  our  flowering  pastures  here  harmonious  ? 

5.  Caught'st  thou  thy  carol  from  some  Indian  maid, 

VVhere,  through  the  liquid  fields  of  wild-rice  plashing, 
Brushing  the  ears  from  ofi*  the  burdened  blade, 

Her  birch  canoe  o'er  some  lone  lake  is  flashing  ? 
Or  did  the  reeds  of  some  savannahs  south 

Detain  thee,  while  thy  northern  flight  pursuing. 
To  place  those  melodies  in  thy  sweet  mouth, 

The  spice-fed  winds  had  taught  them  in  their  wooing? 

6.  Unthrifty  prodigal !  — r  is  no  thought  of  ill 

The  cadence  of  thy  lay  disturbing  ever  ? 
Or  doth  each  pulse  in  choiring  sequence  still 

Throb  on  in  music  till  at  rest  for  ever  ? 
Yet  now,  in  wildered  maze  of  concord  floating, 

'T  would  seem,  that  glorious  hymning  to  prolong, 
Old  Time,  in  hearing  thee,  might  fall  a-doting, 

And  pause  to  listen  to  thy  rapturous  song  ! 


LESSON  XX.     Migration  of  Birds. 

1.  The  velocity,  with  which  birds  are  able  to  travel  in 
their  aerial  element,  has  no  parallel  among  terrestrial  ani- 
mals ;  and  this  powerful  capacity  for  progressive  motion  is 
bestowed  in  aid  of  their  peculiar  wants  and  instinctive  hab- 
its. The  swiftest  horse  may  perhaps  proceed  a  mile  in 
something  less  than  two  minutes ;  but  such  exertion  is  un- 
natural, and  quickly  fatal. 

2.  An  eagle,  whose  stretch  of  wing  exceeds  seven  feet, 
with  ease  and  majesty,  and  without  any  extraordinary  effort, 
riecs  out  of  sight  in  less  than  three  minutes,  and  therefore 


MIGRATION    OF    BIRDS.  63 

must  fly  more  than  three  thousand  five  hundred  yards  in  a 
minute,  or  at  the  rate  of  sixty  miles  in  an  hour.  At  this 
speed,  a  bird  would  easily  perform  a  journey  of  six  hundred 
miles  in  a  day,  since  ten  hours  only  would  be  required, 
which  would  allow  of  frequent  halts,  and  the  whole  of  the 
night,  for  repose. 

3.  Swallows,  and  other  migratory  birds,  might,  therefore, 
pass  from  Northern  Europe  to  the  Equator  in  seven  or  eight 
days.  In  fact,  Adanson  saw,  on  the  coast  of  Senegal, 
swallows,  that  had  arrived  there  on  the  9th  of  October,  or 
eight  or  nine  days  after  their  departure  from  the  colder  con- 
tinent. A  Canary  falcon,  sent  to  the  Duke  of  Lerma, 
returned  in  sixteen  hours  from  Andalusia  to  the  Island  of 
Teneriffe,  a  distance  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 
The  gulls  of  Barbadoes,  according  to  Sir  Hans  Sloane, 
make  excursions  in  flocks  to  the  distance  of  more  than  two 
hundred  miles  after  their  food,  and  then  return  the  same 
day  to  their  rocky  roosts. 

4.  Superficial  observers,  substituting  their  own  ideas  for 
facts,  are  ready  to  conclude,  and  frequently  assert,  that  the 
old  and  young,  before  leaving,  assemble  together  for  mutual 
departure  ;  this  may  be  true  in  many  instances,  but,  in  as 
many  more,  a  different  arrangement  obtains.  The  young, 
often  instinctively  vagrant,  herd  together  in  separate  flocks, 
previous  to  their  departure,  and,  guided  alone  by  the  innate 
monition  of  nature,  seek  neither  the  aid,  nor  the  company, 
of  the  old ;  consequently,  in  some  countries,  flocks  of 
young,  of  particular  species,  are  alone  observed,  and  in 
others,  far  distant,  we  recognise  the  old. 

5.  From  parental  aid,  the  juvenile  company  have  ob- 
tained all  that  nature  intended  to  bestow,  existence  and 
education  ;  and  they  are  now  thrown  upon  the  world  among 
their  numerous  companions,  with  no  other  necessary  guide 
than  self-preserving  instinct.  In  Europe  it  appears,  that 
these  bands  of  the  young  always  affect  even  a  warmer  cli- 
mate than  the  old ;  the  aeration  of  their  blood  not  being  yet 
complete,  they  are  more  sensible  to  the  rigors  of  cold. 
The  season  of  the  year  has  also  its  effect  on  the  movements 
of  birds ;  thus  certain  species  proceed  to  their  northern 
destination  more  to  the  eastward  in  the  spring,  and  return 
from  it  to  the  south-westward  in  the  autumn. 

6.  When  untoward  circumstances  render  haste  necessary 


e4  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

certain  kinds  of  birds,  which  ordinarily  travel  only  in  the 
night,  continue  their  route  during  the  day,  and  scarcely 
allow  themselves  time  to  eat;  yet  the  singing-birds,  properly 
so  called,  never  migrate  by  day,  whatever  may  happen  to 
them.  And  it  may  here  be  inquired,  with  astonishment, 
how  these  feeble,  but  enthusiastic  animals,  are  able  to  pass 
the  time,  thus  engaged,  without  the  aid  of  recruiting  sleep? 
But  so  powerful  is  this  necessity  for  travel,  that  its  incentive 
breaks  out  equally  in  those  which  are  detained  in  captivity ; 
so  much  so,  that,  although  during  the  day  they  are  no  more 
alert  than  usual,  and  only  occupied  in  taking  nourishment, 
at  the  approach  of  night,  far  from  seeking  repose,  as  usual, 
they  manifest  great  agitation,  sing  without  ceasing  in  the 
cage,  whether  the  apartment  is  lighted  or  not ;  and,  when 
the  moon  shines,  they  appear  still  more  restless,  as  it  is  their 
custom,  at  liberty,  to  seek  the  advantage  of  its  light  for  fa- 
cilitating their  route. 

7.  Some  birds,  while  engaged  in  their  journey,  still  find 
means  to  live  without  halting ;  the  swallow,  while  traversing 
the  sea,  pursues  its  insect  prey ;  those  which  can  subsist  on 
fish,  without  any  serious  effort,  feed  as  they  pass  or  graze 
the  surface  of  the  deep.  If  the  wren,  the  creeper,  and 
the  titmouse  rest  for  an  instant  on  a  tree,  to  snatch  a  hasty 
morsel,  in  the  next,  they  are  on  the  wing,  to  fulfil  their  des- 
tination. 

S.  Of  all  migrating  birds,  the  cranes  appear  to  be  en- 
dowed with  the  greatest  share  of  foresight.  They  never 
undertake  to  journey  alone ;  throughout  a  circle  of  several 
miles,  they  appear  to  communicate  the  intention  of  com- 
mencing their  route.  Several  days  previous  to  their  depart- 
ure, they  call  upon  each  other  with  a  peculiar  cry,  as  if 
giving  warning  to  assenibte  at  a  central  point ;  the  favorable 
moment  being  at  length  arrived,  they  betake  themselves  to 
flight,  and,  in  military  style,  fall  into  two  lines,  which 
unite  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form  an  extended  angle,  with 
two  equal  sides. 

9.  At  the  central  point  of  the  phalanx,  the  chief  takes  his 
station,  to  whom  the  whole  troop,  by  their  subordination, 
appear  to  have  pledged  their  obedience.  The  commander 
has  not  only  the  painful  task  of  breaking  the  path  through 
the  air,  but  he  has  also  the  charge  of  watching  for  the  com- 
mon safety ;  to  avoid  the  attacks  of  birds  of  prey ;  to  rang© 


THE    BLIND    MUSICIAN.  66 

the  two  lines  in  a  circle  at  the   approach  of  a  tempest,  in   \ 
order  to  resist  with  more  effect  the  squalls,  which  menace 
the  disposition  of  the  linear  ranks ;  and  lastly,  it  is  to  the 
leader,  that  the  fatigued  company  look   up  to  appoint  the 
most  convenient  places  for  nourishment  and  repose. 

10.  Still,  important  as  is  the  station  and  function  of  the 
aerial  director,  its  existence  is  but  momentary.  As  soon  as 
he  feels  sensible  of  fatigue,  he  cedes  his  place  to  the  next  in 
file,  and  retires  himself  to  its  extremity.  During  the  night, 
their  flight  is  attended  with  considerable  noise;  the  loud 
cries  which  we  hear  seem  to  be  the  marching  orders  of  the 
chief,  answered  by  the  ranks,  who  follow  his  commands. 

11.  Wild  geese,  and  several  kinds  of  ducks,  also  make 
their  aerial  voyage  nearly  in  the  same  manner  as  the  cranes. 
The  loud  call  of  the  passing  geese,  as  they  soar  securely 
through  the  higher  regions  of  the  air,  is  familiar  to  all ;  but, 
as  an  additional  proof  of  their  sagacity  and  caution,  we 
may  remark,  that,  when  fogs  in  the  atmosphere  render  their 
flight  necessarily  low,  they  steal  along  in  silence,  as  if  aware 
of  the  danger  to  which  their  lower  path  now  exposes  them. 


LESSON   XXI.      The  Blind  Musician. 

1.  Silent  and  still,  Lucy  and  her  lover  sat  together. 
The  streets  were  utterly  deserted,  and  the  loneliness  as  they 
looked  below,  made  them  feel  the  more  intensely 'not  only 
the  emotions  which  swelled  within  them,  but  the  undefined 
and  electric  sympathy,  which,  in  uniting  them,  divided  them 
from  the  world. 

2.  The  quiet  around  was  broken  by  a  distant  strain  of 
rude  music ;  and,  as  it  came  nearer,  two  forms  of  no  poetical 
order,  grew  visible.  The  one  was  a  poor  blind  man,  who 
was  drawing  from  his  flute  tones  in  which  the  melancholy 
beauty  of  the  air  compensated  for  any  deficiency  in  the  ex- 
ecution. A  woman,  much  younger  than  the  musician,  and 
with  something  of  beauty  in  her  countenance,  accompanied 
him,  holding  a  tattered  hat,  and  looking  wistfully  up  at  the 
windows  of  the  silent  street. 

3.  We  said  two  forms ;  we  did  the  injustice  of  forgetful- 


66  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

ness  to  another  ;  a  rugged  and  simple  friend,  it  is  true,  but 
one  that  both  minstrel  and  wife  had  many  and  moving  rea- 
sons to  love.  This  was  a  little  wiry  terrier,  with  dark 
piercing  eyes,  that  glanced  quickly  and  sagaciously  in  all 
quarters,  from  beneath  the  shaggy  covert  that  surrounded 
them.  Slowly  the  animal  moved  forward,  pulling  gently 
against  the  string  by  which  it  was  held,  and  by  which  he 
guided  his  master.  Once  his  fidelity  was  tempted  ;  another 
dog  invited  him  to  play ;  the  poor  terrier  looked  anxiously 
and  doubtjngly  round,  and  then,  uttering  a  low  growl  of 
denial,  pursued 

"  The  noiseless  tenor  of  his  way." 

4.  The  little  procession  stopped  beneath  the  window  where 
Lucy  and  Clifford  sat ;  for  the  quick  eye  of  the  woman  had 
perceived  them,  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  blind  man's 
arm,  and  whispered  to  him.  He  took  the  hint,  and  changed 
his  air  into  one  of  love.  Clifford  glanced  at  Lucy ;  her  cheek 
was  dyed  with  blushes.  The  air  was  over,  —  another  suc- 
ceeded, —  it  was  of  the  same  kind;  a  third,  —  the  burden 
was  still  unaltered,  —  and  then  Clifford  threw  into  the 
street  a  piece  of  money,  and  the  dog  wagged  his  abridged 
and  dwarfed  tail,  and,  darting  forward,  picked  it  up  in  his 
mouth,  and  the  woman  (she  had  a  kind  face!)  patted  the 
officious  friend,  even  before  she  thanked  the  donor,  and  then 
she  dropped  the  money  with  a  cheering  word  or  two  into 
the  blind  man's  pocket,  and  the  three  wanderers  moved 
slowly  on. 

5.  Presently,  they  came  to  a  place  where  the  street  had 
been  mended,  and  the  stones  lay  scattered  about.  Here, 
the  woman  no  longer  trusted  to  the  dog's  guidance,  but 
anxiously  hastened  to  the  musician,  and  led  him  with  evi- 
dent tenderness,  and  minute  watchfulness,  over  the  rugged 
way.  When  they  had  passed  the  danger,  the  man  stopped, 
and  before  he  released  the  hand  which  had  guided  him,  he 
pressed  it  gratefully,  and  then  both  the  husband  and  the 
wife  stooped  down  and  caressed  the  dog. 

6.  This  little  scene,  — one  of  those  rough  copies  of  the 
loveliness  of  human  affections,  of  which  so  many  are  scat- 
tered about  the  highways  of  the  world,  —  both  the  lovers 
had  involuntarily  watched  ;  and  now,  as  they  withdrew,  — 
those  eyes  settled  on  each  other,  —  Lucy's  swam  in  tears. 


FRANKLIN'S  ARRIVAL  AT   PHILADELPHIA.    67 

^  7.  "  To  be  loved  and  tended  by  the  one  I  love,"  said 
Clifford,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  would  walk  blind  and  barefoot 
over  the  whole  earth." 


LESSON  XXII.     Franklin's    First  Entrance  into 
Philadelphia. 

Dr.  Franklin  was  at  first  a  printer,  and  had  few  opportunities  for  ed- 
ucation :  but  by  liis  industry,  good  sense,  and  discretion,  he  advanced  to 
distinction,  and  became  one  of  tlie  most  useful  and  celebrated  men  of  his 
time.     The  following  account  is  nearly  in  his  own  words. 

1.  I  HAVE  entered  into  the  particulars  of  my  voyage,  and 
shall,  in  like  manner,  describe  my  first  entrance  into  this 
city,  that  you  may  be  able  to  compare  beginnings,  so  little 
auspicious,  with  the  figure  I  have  since  made. 

2.  On  my  arrival  at  Philadelphia,  I  was  in  my  working 
dress ;  my  best  clothes  being  to  come  by  sea.  I  was  covered 
with  dirt ;  my  pockets  were  filled  with  shirts  and  stockings  ; 
I  was  unacquainted  with  a  single  soul  in  the  place,  and 
knew  not  where  to  seek  a  lodging.  Fatigued  with  walking, 
rowing,  and  having  passed  the  night  without  sleep,  I  was 
extremely  hungry,  and  all  my  money  consisted  of  a  Dutch 
dollar,  and  about  a  shilling's  worth  of  coppers,  which  I  gave 
to  the  boatmen  for  my  passage.  As  I  had  assisted  them  in 
rowing,  they  refused  it  at  first;  but  I  insisted  on  their 
taking  it. 

3.  A  man  is  sometimes  more  generous  when  he  has  little, 
than  when  he  has  much  money ;  probably,  because,  in  the 
first  case,  he  is  desirous  of  concealing  his  poverty.  I 
walked  towards  the  top  of  the  street,  looking  eagerly  on 
both  sides,  till  I  came  to  Market  Street,  where  I  met  with  a 
child  with  a  loaf  of  bread.  Often  had  I  made  my  dinner 
on  dry  bread.  I  inquired  where  he  had  bought  it,  and  went 
straight  to  the  baker's  shop,  which  he  pointed  out  to  me. 

4.  I  asked  for  some  biscuits,  expecting  to  find  such  as  we 
had  at  Boston  ;  but  they  made,  it  seems,  none  of  that  sort  at 
Philadelphia.  I  then  asked  for  a  threepenny  loaf  They 
made  no  loaves  of  that  price.  Finding  myself  ignorant  of 
the  prices,  as  well  as  of  the  different  kinds,  of  bread,  I 
desired  him  to  let  me  have  threepenny-worth  of  bread  of 


158  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

some  kind  or  other.  He  gave  me  three  large  rolls.  I  was 
surprised  at  receiving  so  much.  I  took  them,  however,  and, 
naving  no  room  in  my  pockets,  I  walked  on  with  a  roll  un- 
der each  arm,  eating  a  third. 

5.  In  this  manner,  I  went  through  Market  Street  to 
Fourth  Street,  and  passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Read,  the 
father  of  my  future  wife.  She  was  standing  at  the  door, 
observed  me,  and  thought,  with  reason,  that  I  made  a  very 
singular  and  grotesque  appearance. 

6.  I  then  turned  the  corner,  and  went  through  Chestnut 
Street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way  ;  and,  having  made  this 
round,  I  found  myself  again  on  Market  Street  wharf,  neap 
the  boat  in  which  I  arrived.  I  stepped  into  it  to  take  a 
draught  of  water ;  and,  finding  myself  satisfied  with  my 
first  roll,  I  gave  the  other  two  to  a  woman  and  her  child, 
who  had  come  down  with  us  in  the  boat,  and  was  waiting  to 
continue  her  journey. 

7.  Thus  refreshed,  I  regained  the  street,  which  was  now 
full  of  well-dressed  people,  all  going  the  same  way.  1 
joined  them,  and  was  thus  led  to  a  large  Quaker  meeting- 
house near  the  market-place.  I  sat  down  with  the  rest,  and, 
after  looking  round  me  for  some  time,  hearing  nothing  said, 
and  being  drowsy  from  my  last  night's  labor  and  want  of 
rest,  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep.  In  this  state  I  continued, 
till  the  assembly  dispersed,  when  one  of  the  congregation 
had  the  goodness  to  wake  me.  This  was,  consequently,  tha 
first  house  I  entered,  or  in  which  I  slept,  at  Philadelphia. 


LESSON    XXIII.     Lake  Superior. 

1.  **  Father  of  Lakes  !  "  thy  waters  bend, 
Beyond  the  eagle's  utmost  view  ; 
When,  throned  in  heaven,  he  sees  thee  send 
Back  to  the  sky  its  world  of  blue. 

2.  Boundless  and  deep  the  forests  weave 
Their  twilight  shade  thy  borders  o'er, 
And  threatening  clifis,  like  giants,  heave 
Their  rugged  forms  along  thy  shore. 


LAKE   SUPERIOR,  (fO 

3.  Pale  Silence,  'raid  thy  hollow  caves, 

With  listening  ear  in  sadness  broods, 
Or  startled  Echo,  o'er  thy  waves. 

Sends  the  hoarse  wolf-notes  of  thy  woods. 

4.  Nor  can  the  light  canoes,  that  glide 

•Across  thy  breast  like  things  of  air, 
Chase  from  thy  lone  and  level  tide, 
The  spell  of  stillness  deepening  there. 

5.  Yet  round  this  waste  of  wood  and  wave, 

Unheard,  unseen,  a  spirit  lives. 
That,  breathing  o'er  each  rock  and  cave, 
To  all,  a  wild,  strange  aspect  gives. 

6.  The  thunder-riven  oak,  that  flings 

Its  grisly  arms  athwart  the  sky, 
A  sudden,  startling  image  brings 
To  the  lone  traveller's  kindled  eye. 

7.  The  gnarled  and  braided  boughs,  that  show 

Their  dim  forms  in  the  forest  shade, 

Like  wrestling  serpents  seem,  and  throw 

Fantastic  horrors  through  the  glade. 

8.  The  very  echoes  round  this  shore 

Have  caught  a  strange  and  gibbering  tone, 
For  they  have  told  the  war-whoop  o'er. 
Till  the  wild  chorus  is  their  own. 

9.  Wave  of  the  wilderness,  adieu  ! 

Adieu,  ye  rocks,  ye  wilds,  ye  woods! 
Roll  on,  thou  Element  of  blue, 
And  fill  these  awful  solitudes ! 

10.  Thou  hast  no  tale  to  tell  of  man, — 

God  is  thy  theme.     Ye  sounding  caves, 
Whisper  of  Him,  whose  mighty  plan 
Deems  as  a  bubble  all  your  waves ! 


70  THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  XXIV.     The  Discentented  Mole;  a  Fable. 

1.  A  YOUNG  mole  having  crept  out  into  the  sun  one  day, 
met  with  its  mother,  and  began  to  complain  of  its  lot.  *•  I 
have  been  thinking,"  said  he,  *'  that  we  lead  a  very  stupid 
life,  burrowing  under  the  ground,  and  dwelling  in  perpetu- 
al darkness.  For  ray  part,  I  think  it  would  be  much  better 
to  live  aboveboard,  and  caper  about  in  the  sunlight  like  the 
squirrels." 

2.  *'  It  may  seem  so  to  yon/'  said  the  wise  old  mole,  "  but 
beware  of  forming  hasty  opinions.  It  is  an  old  remark,  that 
it  takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  a  world.  Some  crea- 
tures Irve  upon  the  trees  ;  but  nature  has  provided  them 
with  claws,  which  make  it  easy  and  safe  for  them  to  climb. 
Some  dwell  in  the  water,  but  they  are  supplied  with  fins, 
which  render  it  easy  for  them  to  move  about,  and  with  a 
contrivance  by  means  of  which  they  breathe  where  other 
creatures  would  drown. 

3.  "  Some  creatures  glide  through  the  air  ;  but  they  are 
endowed  with  wings,  without  which,  it  would  be  vain  to  at- 
tempt to  fly.  The  truth  is,  that  every  individual  is  made  to 
fill  some  place  in  tlie  scale  of  being ;  and  he  best  seeks  his 
own  happiness  in  following  the  path  which  his  Creator  has 
marked  out  for  him. 

4.  "  We  may  wisely  seek  to  better  our  condition,  by  mak- 
ing that  path  as  pleasant  as  possible,  but  not  attempt  to  pur- 
sue one  which  we  are  unfitted  to  follow.  You  will  best  con- 
sult your  interest,  by  endeavoring  to  enjoy  all  that  properly 
belongs  to  a  mole,  instead  of  striving  to  swim  like  a  fish, 
climb  like  a  squirrel,  or  fly  like  a  bird.  Contentment  is  the 
great  blessing  of  life.  You  may  enjoy  this  in  the  quiet  se- 
curity of  your  sheltered  abode ;  the  proudest  tenant  of  the 
earth,  air,  or  sea,  can  do  no  more." 

5.  The  young  mole  replied  ;  "  This  may  seem  very  wise 
to  you,  but  it  sounds  like  nonsense  to  me.  I  am  determined 
to  burrow  in  the  earth  no  more,  but  dash  out  in  style,  like 
other  gay  people."  So  saying,  he  crept  upon  a  little  mound 
for  the  purpose  of  looking  about,  and  seeing  what  course  of 
pleasure  he  should  adopt.  While  in  this  situation,  he  was 
snapped  up  by  a  hawk,  who  carried  him  to  a  tall  tree,  and 
devoured  him  without  ceremony 


APHORISMS  FROM  SHAKSPEARB.  71 

6.  This  fable  may  teach  us  the  folly  of  that  species  of 
discontent, which  would  lead  us  to  grasp  at  pleasures  beyond 
our  reach,  or  to  indulge  envy  toward  those  who  are  in  the 
possession  of  more  wealth  than  we.  We  should  endeavor  to 
fulfil  the  duties  of  that  situation  in  which  we  are  placed,  and 
not  grumble,  that  some  other  lot  is  not  assigned  to  us.  We 
may  lawfully  seek  to  improve  our  fortunes,  but  this  should  be 
done  rather  by  excelling  in  that  profession  which  we  have 
chosen,  than  by  endeavoring  to  shine  in  one  for  which  we 
are  unfitted. 


LESSON    XXV.     Apkorisms  from  Skakspeare. 

1.  Truth  hath  a  quiet  breast. 

2.  Take  all  the  swift  advantage  of  the  hours. 

3.  There  's  small  choice  in  rotten  apples. 

4.  They  sell  the  pasture  now  to  buy  the  horse. 

5.  He  that  is  giddy,  thinks  the  world  turns  round. 

6.  Suspicion  shall  be  all  stuck  full  of  eyes. 

7.  In  delay,  there  lies  no  plenty. 

8.  It  is  an  heretic  that  mak«s  the  fire, 
Not  he  which  burns  in  't. 

9.  An  honest  man  is  able  to  speak  for  himself  when  a 

knave  is  not. 

10.  Though  patience  be  a  tired  mare,  yet  she  will  plod. 

11.  Oaths  are  words,  and  poor  conditions. 

12.  Fears  attend  the  steps  of  wrong. 

13.  The   bird  that  hath  been  limed  in  a  bush, 
With  trembling  wings  misdoubteth  every  bush. 

14.  When  a  fox  hath  once  got  in  his  nose, 

He  '11   soon  take  means  to  make  the  body  follow. 

15.  'T  is  but  a  base,  ignoble  mind, 

That  mounts  no  higher  than  a  bird  can  soar. 

16.  A  staff  is  quickly  found  to  beat  a  dog. 

17.  Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away. 

18.  By  medicines  life  may  be  prolonged,  yet  Death 
Will  seize  the  doctor  too. 

19.  If  money  go  before,  all  ways  do  lie  open. 

20.  Who  makes  the  fairest  show,  means  most  deceit. 

21.  Let  them  obey,  that  know  not  how  to  rule. 


7«i  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

22.  Advantage  is  a  better  soldier  than  rashness. 

23.  Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere. 

24.  Small  curs  are  not  regarded  when  they  grin  ; 
But  great  men  tremble  when  the  lion  roars. 

25.  Hercules  himself  must  yield  to  odds; 
And  many  strokes,  though  with  a  little  axe, 
Hew  down  and  fell  the  hardest-timbered  oak 

26.  All  that  glisters  is  not  gold ; 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  infold. 

27.  Wake  not  a  sleeping  wolf. 

28.  Kindness  is  nobler  ever  than  revenge. 

29.  Do  as  adversaries  do  in  law, 

Strive  mightily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 

30.  We  call  a  nettle  but  a  nettle  ;  and 
The  faults  of  fools  but  folly. 

31.  Things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye, 
Than  what  not  stirs. 

32.  Coronets  are  stars. 
And,  sometimes,  falling  ones. 

33.  They  that  have  the  voice  of  lions,  and  the  act  of 

hares,  are  they  not  monsters  ? 

34.  A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities. 

35.  Fortune  brings  in  some  boats  that  are  not  steered. 

36.  Inconstancy  falls  off  e'er  it  begins. 

37.  Nothing  can  come  of  nothing.* 

38.  He  that  loves  to  be  flattered  is  worthy  o'  the  flatterer 

39.  Men  in  rage  strike  those  that  wish  them  well. 

40.  One  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain. 

41.  He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound. 

42.  Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

43.  Vaulting  ambition  o'erleaps  its  sell  (i.  e.  saddle). 

44.  Delight  no  less  in  truth,  than  life. 

45.  Bondage  is  hoarse  and  may  not  speak  aloud. 

46.  False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

47.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valor. 

48.  'T  is  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
Than,  by  destruction,  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

49.  Merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks. 

50.  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good  and 

ill  together. 

51.  Though  authority  be  a  stubborn  bear,  yet  he  is  oft 

led  by  the  nose  with  gold. 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  SEASONS.    79 

52.  All  difficulties  ate  but  easy,  when  they  ate  j^nown. 

53.  Fashion  wears  out  more  apparel  than  the  man. 

54.  We  are  born  to  do  benefits. 

55.  Report  is  fabulous  and  false. 
6Q.  Truth  loves  open  dealing. 

57.  There  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue. 


LESSON   XXVI.     The  Departure  of  tke  Seasons. 

1.  The  gay  Spring 
With  its  young  charms  has  gone,  —  gone,  with  its  leaves,- 
Its  atmosphere  of  roses,  —  its  while  clouds 
Slumbering  like  seraphs  in  the  air, —  its  birds 
Telling  their  loves  in  music,  —  and  its  streams 
Leaping  and  shouting  from  the  up-piled  rocks 
To  make  earth  echo  with  the  joy  of  waves. 

2.  And  Summer,  with  its  dews  and  showers  has  gone,  • 
Its  rainbows  glowing  on  the  distant  cloud 
Like  Spirits  of  the  Storm, —  its  peaceful  lakes 
Smiling  in  their  sweet  sleep,  as  if  their  dreams 
Were  of  the  opening  flowers  and  budding  trees 
And  overhanging  sky,  —  and  its  bright  mists 
Resting  upon  the  mountain-tops,  as  crowns 
Upon  the  heads  of  giants.     3.  Autumn  too 
Has  gone,  with  all  its  deeper  glories,  —  gone, 
With  its  green  hills  like  altars  of  the  world 
Lifting  their  rich  fruit-offerings  to  their  God,  — 
Its  cool  winds  straying  'mid  the  forest  aisles 
To  wake  their  thousand  wind-harps,  —  its  serene 
And  holy  sunsets  hanging  o'er  the  West 
Like  banners  from  the  battlements  of  Heaven,  — 
And  its  still  evenings,  when  the  moonlight  sea 
Was  ever  throbbing,  like  the  living  heart 
Of  the  great  Universe.     4.  Ay,  — these  are  now 
But  sounds  and  visions  of  the  "past,  —  their  deep, 
Wild  beauty  has  departed  from  the  Earth, 
And  they  are  gathered  to  the  embrace  of  Death, 
Their  solemn  herald  to  Eternity. 


74'  THE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  XXVII.     On  Time. 

1.  There  are  some  insects  who  live  but  a  single  day.  In 
the  morning  they  are  born ;  at  noon  they  are  in  full  life ; 
at  evening  diey  die.  The  life  of  man  is  similar  to  that  of 
these  insects.  It  is  true,  he  lives  for  a  number  of  years, 
but  the  period  is  so  short,  that  every  moment  is  of  some 
value.  Our  existence  may  be  compared  to  a  journey ;  as 
every  step  of  the  traveller  brings  him  nearer  to  the  end  of 
his  journey,  so  every  tick  of  the  clock  makes  the  limited 
number  of  seconds  allotted  to  us,  still  less. 

2.  Our  life  may  be  divided,  like  the  day  of  the  insect,  into 
three  parts ;  youth,  or  morning ;  noon,  or  middle  age ;  and 
evening,  or  old  age.  In  youth,  we  get  our  education,  and 
lay  up  those  stores  of  knowledge,  which  are  to  guide  us  in 
the  journey  before  us.  As  this  journey  is  of  importance, 
we  should  be  busy  as  the  bee,  that  "improves  each  shining 
hour.'^ 

3.  I  do  not  mean,  that  we  should  never  amuse  ourselves ; 
on  the  contrary,  amusement  is  absolutely  necessary  to  all, 
and  particularly  to  the  young.  But  what  I  mean  is,  that 
none  of  the  time  allotted  to  study,  or  business,  or  duty, 
should  be  allowed  to  pass  in  idleness.  Every  moment 
should  be  improved ;  for  we  have  a  journey  before  us,  and, 
if  we  linger  by  the  way,  the  time  in  which  it  is  to  be  per- 
formed will  pass,  and,  while  we  are  yet  unhoused,  or 
unsheltered  in  the  wilderness,  the  sun  will  set,  and  the 
shadows  of  night  will  fall  upon  us. 

4.  Middle  age  is  a  time  of  action,  and  it  is  important  to 
lay  up  knowledge  and  wisdom  in  youth,  that  we  may  act  well 
and  wisely  in  these  after  days.  Old  age  is  the  evening,  or 
the  winter,  of  life.  It  is  dimmed  by  the  shadows  of  coming 
night,  or  chilled  by  the  frost  of  coming  death.  Yet  it  is  not 
a  period  from  which  we  should  shrink,  unless,  indeed,  we 
have  wasted  our  time,  and  made  no  preparation  against  the 
season  that  is  to  follow. 


THE  AMERICAN  AUTUMN. 


LESSON  XXVIII.     The  Amerkan  Autwrnu 


« 


1.  This  season  is  proverbially  beautiful  and  interesting. 
Our  springs  are  too  humid  and  chilly  ;  our  summers  too  hot 
and  dusty  ;  and  our  winters  too  cold  and  tempestuous.  But 
autumn,  that  soft  twilight  of  the  waning  year,  is  ever  de- 
lightfully temperate  and  agreeable.  Nothing  can  be  more 
rich  and  splendid,  than  the  variegated  mantles  which  our 
forests  put  on,  after  throwing  off  the  light  green  drapery  of 
summer. 

2.  In  this  country,  autumn  comes  not  in  "  sober  guise," 
or  in  *^  russet  mantle  clad,"  but,  as  expressed  in  the  beauti- 
ful language  of  Miss  Kemble,  like  a  triumphant  emperor, 
arrayed  in  "  gorgeous  robes  of  Tyrian  dye." 

3.  This  is  the  only  proper  season  in  which  one  truly  en- 
joys, in  all  its  maturity  of  luxurious  loveliness,  an  excursion 
into  the  country ; 

"  There,  the  loaded  fruit-trees  bending, 
Strew  with  mellow  gold  the  land  ; 
Here,  on  high,  from  vines  depending, 
Purple  clusters  court  the  hand." 

Autumn  now  throws  her  many-tinted  robe  over  our  land- 
scape, unequalled  by  the  richest  drapery  which  nature's  ward- 
robe can  furnish  in  any  part  of  the  world. 

4.  We  read  of  Italian  skies  and  tropical  evergreens,  and 
often  long  to  visit  those  regions  where  the  birds  have  "  no 
sorrow  in  their  song,  no  winter  in  their  year."  But  where 
can  we  find  such  an  assemblage  of  beauties  as  is  displayed, 
at  this  moment,  in  the  groves  and  forests  of  our  native  land? 
Europe  and  Asia  may  be  explored  in  vain.  To  them  has 
prodigal  nature  given  springs  like  Eden,  summers  of  plenty, 
and  winters  of  mildness.  To  the  land  of  our  nativity  alone 
has  she  given  autumns  of  unrivalled  beauty,  magnificence, 
and  abundance.  Most  of  our  poets  have  sung  the  charms 
of  this  season,  —  all  varying  from  each  other,  and  all  beau- 
tiful, like  the  many-tinted  hues  of  the  foliage  of  the  groves. 

5.  The  pensive,  sentimental,  moralizing  Bryant,  says, 

"  The  melancholy  day.s  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year  ; " 

but  his  exquisite  lines  are  so  well  known,  that  we  must  re- 
sist the   temptation   to  quote   them.     The   blithe,  jocund, 


Tlr  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

bright-hearted  Halleck  sings  in  a  strain  of  quite  a  different 
lone,  in  describing  the  country  at  this  period.  Who  would 
not  know  these  lines  to  be  his; 

"  In  the  autumn  time, 
Earth  has  no  holier,  nor  no  lovelier  clime." 

But  we  must  not  quote  him  either,  for  the  same  reason. 

6.  This  objection,  however,  does  not  apply  to  the  delicate 
mnrceau  of  poor  Brainard,  which  has  seldom  been  copied, 
and  is  in  little  repute,  but  which  con,taiiis  the  true  inspiration 
of  poetry. 

" '  What  is  there  saddening  in  the  autumn  leaves .'  * 
Have  they  that '  green  and  yellow  melancholy,' 
That  the  sweet  poet  spake  of?     Had  he  seen 
Our  variegated  woods,  when  first  the  frost 
Turns  into  beauty  all  October's  charms,  — 
When  the  dread  fever  quits  us,  —  when  the  storms 
Of  the  wild  equinox,  with  all  its  wet, 
Has  left  the  land,  as  the  first  deluge  left  it, 
With  a  bright  bow  of  many  colors  hung 
Upon  the  forest  tops,  —  lie  had  not  aghed. 
The  moon  stays  longest  for  the  hunter  now  ; 
The  trees  cast  down  their  fruitage,  and  the  blithe 
And  busy  squirrel  hoards  his  winter  store  ; 
While  man  enjoys  the  breeze,  that  sweeps  along 
The  bright  blue  sky  above  him,  and  that  bends 
Magnificently  all  the  forest's  pride. 
Or  whispers  through  the  evergreens,  and  asks, 
'What  is  there  saddening  in  the  autumn  leaves? '  ** 


LESSON  XXIX.      The  Progress  of  Liberty, 

1.  Why  muse 
Upon  the  past  with  sorrow  1  Though  the  year 
Has  gone  to  blend  with  the  mysterious  tide 
Of  old  Eternity,  and  borne  along 
Upon  its  heaving  breast  a  thousand  wrecks 
Of  glory  and  of  beauty,  —  yet  why  mourn 
That  such  is  destiny  ?     2.  Another  year 
Succeedeth  to  the  past,  —  in  their  bright  round 
The  seasons  come  and  go,  —  the  same  blue  arch, 
That  hath  hung  o'er  ns,  will  hang  o'er  us  yet,  — 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  LIBERTY.  77 

The  same  pure  stars  that  we  have  loved  to  watch, 

Will  blossom  still  at  twilight's  gentle  hour 

Like  lilies  on  the  tomb  of  Day,  —  and  still 

Man  will  remain,  to  dream  as  he  hath  dreamed, 

And  mark  the  earth  with  passion.     3.  Love  will  spring 

From  the  lone  tomb  of  old  Affections,  — -  Hope, 

And  Joy,  and  great  Ambition  will  rise  up      * 

As  they  have  risen,  —  and  their  deeds  will  be 

Brighter  than  those  engraven  on  the  scroll 

Of  parted  centuries.     4.  Even  now  the  sea 

Of  coming  years,  beneath  whose  mighty  waves 

Life's  great  events  are  heaving  into  birth, 

Is  tossing  to  and  fro,  as  if  the  winds 

Of  heaven  were  prisoned  in  its  soundless  depths 

And  struggling  to  be  free. 

5.  Weep  not,  that  Time 
Is  passing  on,  —it  will  ere  long  reveal 
A  brighter  era  to  the  nations.  —  Hark  ! 
Along  the  vales  und  mountains  of  the  earth 
There  is  a  deep,  portentous  murmuring. 
Like  the  swift  rush  of  subterranean  streams, 
Or  like  the  mingled  sounds  of  earth  and  air. 
When  the  fierce  Tempest,  with  sonorous  wing, 
Heaves  his  deep  folds  upon  the  rushing  winds, 
And  hurries  onward  with  his  night  of  clouds 
Against  the  eternal  mountains.     6.  'T  is  the  voice 
Of  infant  Freedom, —  and  her  stirring  call 
Is  heard  and  answered  in  a  thousand  tones 
From  every  hill-top  of  her  Western  home,  — 
And  lo,  it  breaks  across  old  Ocean's  flood, — 
^And  "Freedom!  Freedom!"  is  the  answering  shout 
Of  nations,  starting  from  the  spell  of  years. 

7.  The  day-spring !— see,— 't  is  brightening  in  the  heavens! 
The  watchmen  of  the  night  have  caught  the  sign,  — 
From  tower  to  tower  the  signal-fires  flash  free,  — 
And  the  deep  watchword,  like  the  rush  of  seas 
That  heralds  the  volcano's  bursting  flame, 
Is  sounding  o'er  the  earth.     8.  Bright  years  of  hope 
And  life  are  on  the  wing !  —  Yon  glorious  bow 
Of  Freedom,  bended  by  the  hand  of  God, 
Is  spanning  Time's  dark  surges,     Its  high  Arch, 


7^  THE  FOURTH  READER, 

A  type  of  Love  and  Mercy  on  the  cloud, 
Tells  that  the  many  storms  of  human  life 
Will  pass  in  silence,  and  the  sinking  waves, 
Gathering  the  forms  of  glory  and  of  peace, 
Reflect  the  undimmed  brightness  of  the  heavens. 


LESSON   XXX.      The  Broken-hearted. 

1.  Two  years  ago,  I  took  up  my  residence  for  a  few 
weeks  in  a  country  village  in  tlie  eastern  part  of  New  Eng- 
land. Soon  after  my  arrival,  I  became  acquainted  with  a 
Jovely  girl,  apparently  about  seventeen  years  of  age.  She 
had  lost  the  idol  of  her  pure  heart's  purest  love,  and  the 
shadows  of  deep  and  holy  memories  were  resting  like  the 
wing  of  death  upon  her  brow. 

2.  I  first  met  her  in  the  presence  of  the  mirthful.  She 
was,  indeed,  a  creature  to  be  worshipped, —  her  brow  was 
garlanded  by  the  young  year's  sweetest  flowers,  —  her  yellovtr 
locks  were  hanging  beautifully  and  low  upon  her  bosom,  — 
and  she  moved  through  the  crowd  with  such  a  floating,  un- 
earthly grace,  that  the  bewildered  gazer  looked  almost  to^ 
see  her  fade  away  into  the  air,  like  the  creation  of  some 
pleasant  dream.  She  seemed  cheerful  and  even  gay ;  yet  I 
saw  that  her  gayety  was  but  the  mockery  of  her  feelings. 

3.  She  smiled,  but  there  was  something  in  her  smile, 
which  told,  that  its  mournful  beauty  was  but  the  bright  re- 
flection of  a  tear,  —  and  her  eyelids  at  times  closed  heavily 
down^  as  if  struggling  to  repress  the  tide  of  agony  that  was 
bursting  up  from  her  heart's  secret  urn.  She  looked  as  if 
she  could  have  left  the  scene  of  festivity,  and  gone  out  be- 
neath the  quiet  stars,  and  laid  her  forehead  down  upon  the  * 
fresh  green  earth,  and  poured  out  her  stricken  soul,  gush 
after  gush,  till  it  mingled  with  the  eternal  fountain  of  life 
and  purity. 

4.  I  have  lately  heard,  that  the  beautiful  girl,  of  whom  I 
have  spoken,  is  dead.  The  close  of  her  life  was  calm  as  the 
falling  of  a  quiet  stream,  —  gentle  as  the  sinking  of  the 
breeze,  that  lingers  for  a  time  round  a  bed  of  withered  roses, 
and  then  dies  as  't  were  from  very  sweetness. 

5.  It  cannot  be  that  earth  is  man's  only  abiding-place.   It 


ALBAMA   DURING   THE  GREEK  WAR.         79 

cannot  be  that  our  life  is  a  bubble,  cast  up  by  the  ocean  of 
Eternity  to  float  a  moment  upon  the  wave,  and  then  sink  in* 
to  darkness  and  nothingness.  Else  why  is  it,  that  the  aspi- 
rations which  leap  like  angels  from  the  temple  of  our  hearts 
are  forever  wandering  abroad  unsatisfied? 

6.  Why  is  it  that  the  rainbow  and  the  cloud  come  over 
us  with  a  beauty  that  is  not  of  earth,  and  then  pass  off  and 
leave  us  to  muse  upon  their  faded  loveliness?  Why  is  it 
that  the  stars,  which  hold  thefr  festival  around  the  midnight 
throne,  are  set  so  far  above  the  grasp  of  our  limited  facul- 
ties, —  forever  mocking  us  with  their  unapproachable  glory  ? 
And,  finally,  why  is  it  that  bright  forms  of  human  beauty 
are  presented  to  our  view  and  then  taken  from  us,  leaving 
the  thousand  streams  of  our  aflfection  to  flow  back  in  cold 
and  Alpine  torrents  upon  our  hearts? 

7.  We  are  born  for  a  higher  destiny  than  that  of  earth. 
There  is  a  realm  where  the  rainbow  never  fades,  -^  where 
the  stars  will  be  spread  out  before  us  like  the  islands  that 
BlVmber  on  the  ocean,  —  and  where  the  beautiful  beings 
that  here  pass  before  us  like  visions,  will  stay  in  our  pres- 
ence forever. 


LESSON  XXXI.     Albania  during  the  late  Greek  War. 

1.  After  having  crossed  one  more  range  of  steep  moun- 
tains, we  descended  into  a  vast  plain,  over  which  we  jour- 
neyed for  some  hours,  the  country  presenting  the  same 
mournful  aspect  which  1  had  too  long  observed  ;  villages  in 
ruins  and  perfectly  desolate,  —  khans  deserted,  and  fortresses 
razed  to  the  ground,  — olive  woods  burnt  up,  and  fruit-trees 
cut  down. 

2.  So  complete  had  been  the  work  of  destruction,  that  I 
often  unexpectedly  found  my  horse  stumbling  amid  the 
foundations  of  a  village,  and  what  at  first  appeared  the  dry 
bed  of  a  torrent,  often  turned  out  to  be  the  backbone  of 
the  skeleton  of  a  ravaged  town. 

3.  At  the  end  of  the  plain,  immediately  backed  by  very 
lofty  mountains,  and  jutting  into  the  beautiful  lake  that 
bears  its  name,  we  suddenly  came  upon  the  city  of  Yauiaa ; 


80  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

suddenly,  for  a  long  tract  of  gradually  rising  ground  had 
hitherto  concealed  it  from  our  sight. 

4.  At  the  distance  at  which  I  first  beheld  it,  this  city,  once, 
if  not  the  largest,  one  of  the  most  thriving  and  brilliant,  in  the 
Turkish  dominions,  was  still  imposing ;  but  when  I  entered, 
I  soon  found  that  all  preceding  desolation  had  been  only 
preparatory  to  the  vast  scene  of  destruction  now  before  me. 
We  proceeded  through  a  street,  winding  in  its  course,  but 
of  very  great  length. 

5.  Ruined  houses,  mosques  with  their  towers  only  stand- 
ing, streets  utterly  razed,  —  these  are  nothing.  We  met 
great  patches  of  ruin  a  mile  square,  as  if  an  army  of  locusts 
had  had  the  power  of  desolating  the  works  of  man,  as  well 
as  those  of  God.  The  great  heart  of  the  city  was  a  sea  of 
ruin,  —  arches  and  pillars,  isolated  and  shattered,  still  here 
and  there  jutting  forth,  breaking  the  uniformity  of  the  anni- 
hilation, and  turning  the  horrible  into  the  picturesque. 

6.  The  great  Bazaar,  itself  a  little  town,  had  been  burn- 
ed down  only  a  few  days  before  my  arrival,  by  an  infuriate 
band  of  Albanian  warriors,  who  heard  of  the  destruction  of 
iheir  chiefs  by  the  Grand  Vizier.  They  revenged  them- 
selves on  tyranny  by  destroying  civilization. 

7.  But,  while  the  city  itself  presented  this  mournful  ap- 
pearance, its  other  characteristics  were  anything  but  sad. 
At  this  moment,  a  swarming  population,  arrayed  in  every 
possible  and  fanciful  costume,  buzzed  and  bustled  in  every 
direction.  As  I  passed  on,  I  myself  of  course  not  unob- 
served, where  a  Frank  had  not  penetrated  for  nine  years,  a 
thousand  objects  attracted  my  restless  attention  and  roving 
eye. 

8.  Everything  was  so  strange  and  splendid,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment I  forgot  that  this  was  an  extraordinary  scene  even  for 
the  East,  and  gave  up  my  fancy  to  a  full  credulity  in  the 
now  almost  obsolete  magnificence  of  Oriental  life,  and  longed 
to  write  an  Eastern  tale. 

9.  Military  chieftains,  clothed  in  the  most  brilliant  colors, 
and  sumptuous  furs,  and  attended  by  a  cortege  of  officers 
equally  splendid,  continually  passed  us.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  a  dervish  saluted  me  ;  and  now  a  delhi,  with  his  high 
cap,  reined  in  his  desperate  steed,  as  the  suite  of  some  pacha 
blocked  up  some  turning  of  the  street. 

10.  It  seemed  to  me,  that  my  first  day  in  a  Turkish  city 


A  TURKISH  CHIEF.  8| 

brought  before  me  all  the  popular  characteristics  of  which  I 
had  read,  and  which  I  expected  occasionally  to  observe 
during  a  prolonged  residence.  I  remember,  as  I  rode  on 
this  day,  I  observed  a  Turkish  Scheik,  in  his  entirely  green 
vestments,  a  scribe  with  his  writing  materials  in  his  girdle, 
an  ambulatory  physician  and  his  boy.  I  gazed  about  me 
with  a  mingled  feeling  of  delight  and  wonder. 

11.  Suddenly,  a  strange,  wild,  unearthly  drum  is  heard, 
and,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  a  huge  camel,  with  a  slave  sit- 
ting cross-legged  on  its  neck,  and  playing  upon  an  immense 
kettle-drum,  appears,  and  is  the  first  of  an  apparently  inter- 
minable procession  of  his  Arabian  brethren.  The  camels 
were  very  large  ;  they  moved  slowly,  and  were  many  in 
number.  There  were  not  less  than  a,  hundred  moving  on, 
one  by  one. 

12.  To  me,  who  had  then  never  seen  a  caravan,  it  was  a 
novel  and  impressive  spectacle.  All  immediately  hustled 
put  of  the  way  of  the  procession,  and  seemed  to  shiver  un- 
der the  sound  of  the  wild  drum.  The  camels  bore  corn  for 
the  Vizier's  troops,  encamped  without  the  walls. 

13.  At  length,  I  reached  the  house  of  a  Greek  physician, 
to  whom  I  carried  letters.  My  escort  repaired  to  the  quar- 
ters of  their  chieftain's  son,  who  was  in  the  city,  in  atten- 
dance on  the  Grand  Vizier  ;  and,  for  myself,  I  was  glad 
enough  once  more  to  stretch  my  wearied  limbs  under  a 
Christian  roof. 


LESSON    XXXII.     A  Turkish  Chief. 

1.  The  next  day,  I  signified  my  arrival  to  the  Kehaya 
Bey  of  his  Highness,  and  delivered,  according  to  custom,  a 
letter,  with  which  I  had  been  kindly  provided  by  an  eminent 
foreign  functionary.  The  ensuing  morning  was  fixed  for  my 
audience.  I  repaired,  at  the  appointed  hour,  to  the  cele- 
brated fortress  palace  of  Ali  Pacha,  which,  although  greatly 
battered  by  successive  sieges,  is  still  inhabitable,  and  still 
affords  a  very  fair  idea  of  irs  pristine  magnificence. 

2.  Havincj  passed  through  the  gates  of  the  fortress,  I 
found  myself  in  a  number  of  small  dingy  streets,  like  those 
in  the  liberties  of  a  royal  castle.     These  were  all  full  of  life, 


82  THE  FOUR-r^  READER. 

Stirring  and  excited.     At  length,  I  reached  a  grand  square, 
on  which,  on  an  ascent,  stands  the  palace. 

3.  I  was  hurried  through  courts  and  corridors,  full  of 
guards,  and  pages,  and  attendant  chiefs,  and,  in  short,  every 
variety  of  Turkish  population ;  for,  among  the  Orientals,  all 
depends  upon  one  brain,  and  we,  with  our  subdivisions  of 
duty,  and  intelligent,  responsible  deputies,  can  form  no  idea 
of  the  labor  of  a  Turkish  premier.  At  length,  I  came  to  a 
vast  irregular  apartment,  serving  as  the  immediate  ante* 
chamber  of  the  hall  of  audience. 

4.  This  was  the  first  thing  of  the  kind  I  had  ever  yet 
seen.  In  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  I  had  never  mingled 
in  so  picturesque  an  assembly.  Conceive  a  chamber  of  very 
great  dimensions,  full  of  the  choicest  groups  of  an  Oriental 
population,  each  individual  waiting  by  appointment  for  an 
audience,  and  probably  about  to  wait  forever. 

5.  It  was  a  sea  of  turbans,  and  crimson  shawls,  and  gold- 
en scarfs,  and  ornamented  arms.  I  marked  with  curiosity, 
the  haughty  Turk,  stroking  his  beard,  and  waving  his  beads; 
the  proud  Albanian,  strutting  with  his  tarragan,  or  cloak, 
dependent  upon  one  shoulder,  and  touching  with  impatient 
fingers  his  silver-sheathed  arms;  the  olive-visaged  Asiatic, 
with  his  enormous  turban  and  flowing  robes,  gazing,  half 
with  wonder,  and  half  with  contempt,  at  some  scarlet  colonel 
of  the  newly  disciplined  troops,  in  his  gorgeous,  but  awk- 
ward imitation  of  Frank  uniforms;  the  Greek,  still  servile, 
though  no  more  a  slave ;  the  Nubian  eunuch,  and  the  Geor- 
gian page. 

6.  In  this  chamber,  attended  by  the  dragoman  who 
presented  me,  I  remained  about  ten  minutes,  —  too  short  a 
time,  I  never  thought  I  could  have  lived  to  wish  to  kick 
my  heels  in  a  ministerial  ante-chamber, 

7.  Suddenly,  I  was  summoned  to  the  awful  presence  of 
the  pillar  of  the  Turkish  empire  ;  the  man  who  has  the  rep- 
utation of  being,  the  mainspring  of  the  new  system  of  re- 
generation, the  renowned  Redschid,  an  approved  warrior,  a 
consummate  politician,  unrivalled  as  a  dissembler,  in  a  coun- 
try where  dissimulation  is  the  principal  portion  of  moral 
culture, 

8.  The  hall  was  vast,  entirely  covered  with  gilding  and 
arabesques,  inlaid  with  tortoise-shell  and  mother  of  pearl. 
Here,  squatted  up  in  a  corner  of  the  large  divan,  I  bowed 


THE  ALPINE  HORN.  83 

to  a  little  ferocious-looking,  shrivelled,  care-worn  man, 
plainly  dressed,  with  a  brow  covered  with  wrinkles,  and  a 
countenance  clouded  with  anxiety  and  thought. 

9.  I  had  entered  the  shed-like  divan  of  the  kind  and  com- 
paratively insignificant  Kalio  Bey,  with  a  feeling  of  awe;  I 
now  seated  myself  on  the  divan  of  the  Grand  Vizier  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire,  who,  as  my  attendant  informed  me,  had 
destroyed,  in  the  course  of  the  last  three  months,  not  in  war, 
•*  upwards  of  four  thousand  of  my  acquaintance,"  with  the 
self-possession  of  a  morning  visit. 

10.  At  a  distance  from  us,  in  a  group  on  his  left  hand, 
were  his  secretary,  and  his  immediate  suiie.  The  end  of 
the  saloon  was  lined  with  lackeys  in  waiting,  with  crimson 
dresses,  and  long  silver  canes. 

11.  Some  compliments  passed  between  us.  I  congratu- 
lated his  Highness  on  the  pacification  of  Albania,  and  he  re- 
joined, that  the  peace  of  the  world  was  his  only  object,  and 
the  happiness  of  his  fellow-creatures  his  only  wish.  Pipes 
and  coffee  were  brought,  and  then  his  Highness  waved 
his  hand,  and  in  an  instant  the  chamber  was  cleared. 


LESSON  XXXIII.      The  Alpine  Horn. 

1.  The  Alpine  Horn  is  an  instrument  constructed  with 
the  bark  of  a  cherry  tree;  and  which,  like  a  speaking  trum- 
pet, is  used  to  convey  sounds  to  a  great  distance.  When  the 
last  rays  of  the  sun  gild  the  summit  of  the  Alps,  the  shepherd 
who  dwells  the  highest  on  those  mountains,  takes  his  horn 
and  calls  aloud,  "  Praised  be  the  Lord  !  " 

2.  As  soon  as  he  is  heard,  the  neighboring  shepherds 
leave  their  huts  and  repeat  those  words.  The  sound  lasts 
many  minutes,  for  every  echo  of  the  mountains,  and  grot  of 
the  rocks,  repeat  the  name  of  God. 

3.  How  solemn  the  scene !  imagination  cannot  picture  to 
Itself  anything  more  sublime.  The  profound  silence  that 
succeeds,  —  the  sight  of  those  stupendous  mountains,  upon 
which  the  vault  of  heaven  seems  to  rest,  — everything  excites 
the  mind  to  enthusiasm. 

4.  In  the  mean  while,  the  shepherds  bend  their  knees,  and 
pray  in  the  open  air,  and  soon  after  retire  to  their  huts  to 
enjoy  the  repose  of  innocence. 


84  1*HE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  XXXIV.     Rules  for  Conversation. 

1.  That  conversation  may  answer  the  ends  for  which  it 
is  designed,  the  parties  who  are  to  join  in  it  must  come 
together  with  a  determined  resolution  to  please  and  be 
pleased.  As  the  end  of  conversation  is  either  to  amuse  or 
instruct  the  company,  or  to  receive  benefit  from  it,  you 
should  not  be  eager  to  interrupt  others^  or  uneasy  at  being 
yourself  interrupted. 

2.  Give  every  one  leave  to  speak  in  his  turn,  hear  with 
patiencCj  and  answer  with  precision.  Inattention  is  ill 
manners  ;  it  shows  contempt,  and  contempt  is  never  forgot- 
ten. 

3.  1  rouble  not  the  company  with  your  own  private  con- 
cerns. Yours  are  as  little  to  them,  as  theirs  are  to  you. 
Contrive,  but  with  dexterity  and  propriety,  that  eacn  person 
shall  have  an  opportunity  of  discoursing  on  the  subject 
with  which  he  is  best  acquainted  ;  thus,  he  will  be  pleased, 
and  you  will  be  informed.  When  the  conversation  is 
flowing  in  a  serious  and  useful  channel,  never  disturb  it  by 
an  ill-timed  jest. 

4.  In  reflections  on  absent  people,  say  nothing  that  you 
would  not  say  if  they  were  present.  *'  I  resolve,"  says  Bish- 
op Beveridge,  "  never  to  speak  of  a  man's  virtues  before 
his  face,  nor  of  his  faults  behind  his  back."  This  is  a 
golden  rule,  the  observance  of  which,  would,  at  one  stroke, 
banish  flattery  and  defamation  from  the  earth. 


LESSON  XXXV.     Boat  Song. 

1.  Bend  on  your  oars,  —  for  the  sky  it  is  dark, 

And  the  wind  it  is  rising  apace ! 
For  the  waves  they  are  white  with  their  crests  all  so  bright, 
And  they  strive,  as  if  running  a  race. 

2.  Tug  on  your  oars,  —  for  the  day  's  on  the  wane, 

And  the  twilight  is  deepening  fast ; 
For  the  clouds  in  the  sky  show  the  hurricane  nigh, 
As  they  flee  from  the  face  of  the  blast. 


SKETCHES    OF   SYRIA.  g« 

3.  Stretch  on  your  oars,  — for  the  sun  it  is  dowrtj 
♦  And  the  waves  are  like  lions  in  play  ; 

The  stars  they  have  fled,  and  no  moon  is  o'erhead, 
Or  to  point,  or  to  cheer  our  lone  way. 

4.  Rise  on  your  oars,  —  let  the  bright  star  of  hope 

Be  seen  'mid  the  tempest's  wild  roar ; 
And  cheer,  lads  !  for  we  who  were  born  on  the  sea, 
Have  weathered  such  tempests  before^ 

6.  Rest  on  your  oars,  —  for  the  haven  is  won, 
And  the  tempest  may  bluster  till  morn; 
For  the  bold  and  the  brave  are  now  freed  from  the  wave, 
Where  they  late  roamed  so  lonely  and  lorn. 


LESSON  XXXVI.     Sketches  of  Syria, 

1.  Syria  is  an  immense  chain  of  mountains,  extending 
from  Asia  Minor  to  Arabia.  In  the  course  of  this  great 
chain,  an  infinity  of  branches  constantly  detach  themselves 
from  the  parent  trunk,  forming,  on  each  side,  either  towards 
the  desert  or  the  sea,  beautiful  and  fertile  plains. 

2.  Washed  by  the  Levantine  wave,  on  one  side  we  be- 
hold the  once  luxurious  Antioch,  now  a  small  and  dingy 
Turkish  town.  The  traveller  can  no  longer  wander  in  the 
voluptuous  woods  of  Daphne.  The  palace  and  the  garden 
pass  away  with  the  refined  genius  and  the  delicate  taste, 
that  create  them;  but  Nature  is  eternal,  and  even  yet  the 
t  alley  of  the  Orontes  offers,  under  the  glowing  light  of  an 
eastern  day,  scenes  of  picturesque  beauty  that  Switzerland 
cannot  surpass. 

3.  The  hills  of  Laodicea,  once  famous  for  their  wine,  are 
now  celebrated  for  producing  the  choicest  tobacco  of  the 
East.  Tripoli  is  a  flourishing  town,  embosomed  in  wild 
groves  of  Indian  figs,  and  famous  for  its  fruits  and  silks. 
Advancing  along  the  coast,  we  reach  the  ancient  Berytus, 
whose  tobacco  vies  with  that  of  Laodicea,  and  whose  silk 
surpasses  that  of  Tripoli. 

4.  We  arrive  at  all  that  remains  of  the  superb  Tyre ;  a 
small  peninsula,  and  a  mud  village.     The  famous  Acre  is 


f^  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Btill  the  most  important  place  upon  the  coast,  and  Jaffa,  in 
spite  of  so  many  wars,  is  yet  fragrant  amidst  its  gardens, 
and  groves  of  lemon-trees. 

5.  The  towns  on  the  coast  have  been  principally  built  on 
the  sites  and  ruins  of  the  ancient  cities,  whose  names  they 
bear.  None  of  them  have  sufficient  claims  to  the  character 
of  a  capital ;  but  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  we 
find  two  of  the  most  important  of  Oriental  cities,  —  the  pop- 
ulous Aleppo,  and  the  delicious  Damascus;  nor  must  we 
forget  Jerusalem,  that  city  sacred  in  so  many  creeds  ! 

6.  In  ancient  remains,  Syria  is  inferior  only  to  Egypt. 
All  have  heard  of  the  courts  of  Balbec,  and  the  columns  of 
Palmyra,  Less  known,  because  only  recently  visited,  and 
visited  with  extreme  danger,  are  the  vast  ruins  of  magnifi- 
cent cities  in  the  Arabian  vicinity  of  the  lake  Asphaltites. 

7.  The  climate  of  this  country  is  as  various  as  its  forma- 
tion. In  the  plains,  is  often  experienced  that  intense  heat 
so  fatal  to  the  European  invader  ;  yet  the  snow  that  seldom 
falls  upon  the  level  ground,  or  falls  only  to  vanish,  rests  upon 
the  heights  of  Lebanon ;  and  in  the  higher  lands,  it  is  not 
difficult  at  all  times  to  discover  exactly  the  temperature  you 
desire. 

8.  I  travelled  in  Syria  at  the  commencement  of  the  year, 
when  the  short,  but  violent,  rainy  season  had  just  ceased.  It 
is  not  easy  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful  and  fruitful  land. 
The  plains  were  covered  with  that  fresh,  green  tint  so  rare 
under  an  Eastern  sky,  the  orange  and  lemon-trees  were 
clothed  both  with  fruit  and  blossom,  and  then,  too,  I  first 
beheld  the  huge  leaf  of  the  banana,  and  tasted  for  the  first 
time  the  delicate  flavor  of  its  unrivalled  fruit. 

9.  From  the  great  extent  of  the  country,  and  the  conse- 
quent variation  of  climate,  the  Syrian  can  always  command 
a  succession,  as  well  as  a  variety,  of  luxuries.  The  season 
of  the  pomegranate  will  commence  in  Antioch  when  it  ends 
in  Jaffa ;  and  when  you  have  exhausted  the  figs  of  Bairout, 
you  can  fly  to  the  gardens  of  Damascus. 

10.  Under  the  worst  government  that  perhaps  ever  op- 
pressed its  subjects,  Syria  still  brings  forth  the  choice  pro- 
ductions of  almost  every  clime ;  corn  and  cotton,  maize  and 
rice,  the  sugar-cane  of  the  Antilles,  and  the  indigo  and 
cochenille  of  Mexico. 

11.  The  plains  of  Antioch  and  of  Palestine  are  covered 


SKETCHES    OF    SYRIA.  87 

with  woods  of  the  finest  olives,  the  tobaccos  of  the  coast  are 
unrivalled  in  any  country,  and  the  mountains  of  Lebanon 
are  clothed  with  white-mulberry  trees,  that  afford  the  richest 
silks,  or  with  vineyards  that  yield  a  wine  that  justly  bears 
the  name  of  "  Golden." 

12.  The  inhabitants  of  this  country  are  as  various  as  its 
productions  and  its  mutable  fortunes.  The  Ottoman  con- 
queror is  now  the  Lord,  and  rules  the  posterity  of  the  old 
Syrian  Greeks,  and  of  the  Arabs  who  were  themselves  once 
predominant. 

13.  In  the  mountains  the  independent  and  mysterious 
Druses  live  in  freedom  under  their  own  emir ;  and,  in  the 
ranges  near  Antioch,  we  find  the  Ansaree  tribes,  who,  it  is 
whispered,  yet  celebrate  the  most  singular  rites  of  paganism. 
In  the  deserts  around  Aleppo,  wander  the  pastoral  Kourd, 
and  the  warlike  Turkman  ;  and  from  Tadmor  to  Gaza,  the 
whole  Syrian  desert  is  traversed  by  the  famous  Bedouin. 

14.  There  is  a  charm  in  Oriental  life,  and  it  is  —  re- 
pose. Upon  me,  who  had  been  bred  in  the  artificial  circles 
of  corrupt  civilization,  and  who  had  so  freely  indulged  the 
course  of  my  impetuous  passions,  their  character  made  a 
very  forcible  impression.  Wandering  over  those  plains  and 
deserts,  and  sojourning  in  those  silent  and  beautiful  cities,  I 
experienced  all  that  serenity  of  mind,  which  I  can  conceive 
to  be  the  enviable  portion  of  the  old  age  of  a  virtuous  life. 

15.  The  memory  of  the  wearing  cares  and  corroding  anx- 
ieties, and  vaunted  excitements  of  European  life,  filled  me 
with  pain.  Keenly  I  felt  the  vanity  and  bitterness  of  all 
human  plans  and  aspirations.  Truly  may  I  say,  that,  on  the 
plains  of  Syria,  I  parted  forever  with  my  ambition. 

16.  The  calm  enjoyment  of  existence  appeared  to  me  as 
it  now  does,  the  highest  attainable  felicity;  nor  can  I  con- 
ceive that  any  thing  could  tempt  me  from  my  solitude,  and 
induce  me  once  more  to  mingle  with  mankind,  with  whom, 
I  fear,  I  have  too  little  in  common,  but  the  strong  convic- 
tion that  the  fortunes  of  my  race  depended  on  my  eflTorts, 
or  that  I  could  materially  advance  that  great  amelioration  of 
their  condition,  in  the  practicability  of  which  I  devoutly 
believe. 


THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  XXXVII.     Hand  Work  and  Head  Work. 

This  dialogue  is  supposed  to  take  place  in  a  new  settlement.  It  is  be» 
tween  Mr.  Stone,  who  officiates  as  clergyman  and  schoolmaster,  aud  who 
also  does  sometliing  at  farming  ;  Mr.  Hill,  who  is  a  physician,  being 
obliged  to  get  medicines  chiefly  among  tlie  native  plants  of  the  woods;  and 
a  boy  named  George. 

Mr.  Stone.  You  seem  to  think,  Mr.  Hill,  that  there  is  no 
labqr  but  that  of  the  hands,  and  that  even  that  does  not  de- 
serve the  name,  unless  it  be  rough,  and  require  bodily 
strength  to  a  great  degree. 

Mr.  Hill.  No,  I  don't  mean  exactly  so ;  for  I  consider 
that  I  work  pretty  hard ;  and  yet  my  hands  show  it  more  by 
being  dyed  with  my  plants,  than  roughened  by  toil.  And 
you.  Sir,  setting  aside  your  farm,  have  done  so  much,  that  it 
would  be  a  sin  to  say  that  you  have  not  toiled  day  and  night 
for  us.  If  there  has  been  a  person  sick  or  unhappy,  or  if 
your  voice  has  been  wanted  any  hour  in  the  twenty-four, 
you  have  been  always  ready  to  help  us.  But  you  would  not 
call  yourself  a  laborer,  would  you  1 

Mr.  Stone.  Certainly.  There  is  labor  of  the  head,  as 
well  as  of  the  hands,  you  know.  Any  man  who  does  any 
thing,  is  a  laborer,  as  far  as  his  exertion  goes.  A  great 
deal  of  harm  has  been  done  by  that  notion  of  yours.  In 
many  places,  it  has  been  a  received  maxim,  that  commercial 
labor  is  inferior  in  value  to  agricultural ;  and  agriculture 
has,  therefore,  been  favored  with  many  privileges.  The 
greatest  good  of  society  is  attained  by  the  union  of  both 
kinds  of  labor.  The  thresher,  the  miller,  and  the  baker  do 
not  help  to  produce  food  like  the  ploughman ;  bat  surely 
they  are  quite  as  useful  as  he,  because  we  could  not  have 
food  without  their  help.  It  would  be  absurd  to  say,  that 
they  are  less  valuable  than  the  sower. 

Mr.  Hill.  But,  do  you  not  think  that  a  weaver  is  worth 
less  than  a  ploughman  in  society  ? 

Mr.  Stone.  Suppose  that  in  our  society,  consisting  of  fifty-? 
four  persons,  fifty-three  were  engaged  in  tilling  the  ground 
every  day,  and  all  day  long,  and  that  the  other  was  able  to 
prepare  flax,  and  weave  it  into  cloth,  and  make  it  into 
clothes.  Suppose  you  were  that  one.  Do  you  not  think, 
that  you  would  always  have  your  hands  full  of  business,  and 


HAND  WORK  AND  HEAD  WORK.      89 

be  looked  up  to  as  a  very  important  person  ;  and  do  you  not 
think  that,  if  you  died,  you  would  be  more  missed  than  any 
one  of  the  fifty-three  ploughmen  ? 

Mr.  Hill.  (Lmighing.)  But  what  a  folly  it  would  be, 
Sir,  to  raise  ten  or  twenty  times  as  much  corn  as  we  could 
eat,  and  to  be  in  want  of  every  thing  else. 

Mr.  Stone.  I  think  it  would ;  and,  in  such  a  case,  we 
should  be  ready  to  pass  a  vote  of  thanks  to  any  man  who 
would  leave  the  plough,  and  turn  tanner  or  weaver,  and 
then  we  would  spare  another  to  be  a  tailor ;  and,  at  length, 
we  would  thank  another  to  set  up  a  shop  where  we  might 
exchange  what  we  produce,  and  get  the  things  we  want 
Now,  would  it  not  be  ungrateful  and  foolish  for  us  to  say, 
that  the  farmers  were  the  most  valuable  to  us. 

Mr.  Hill.  To  be  sure.  The  natural  consequence  of  such 
partiality  would  be  to  tempt  the  shop-keeper  to  give  up  his 
shop,  and  the  weaver  his  loom,  and  the  tailor  his  shears,  to 
go  back  to  the  plough,  and  then  we  should  be  as  badly  off 
as  we  were  before.  I  suppose  all  labor  should  be  equally 
respected. 

Mr.  Stone.  Nay,  I  was  far  from  saying  that.  Our  friend 
George,  there,  makes  beautiful  little  boats  out  of  walnut- 
shells,  and  must  have  spent  a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  his 
art.  But,  if  he  were  to  work  for  a  week,  and  make  us  each 
one,  he  would  no  more  have  earned  his  dinner  every  day 
than  if  he  had  spent  his  time  in  sleep.  We  do  not  want 
walnut-shell  boats,  and  therefore  his  labor  would  be  worth 
no  more,  being  ill  directed,  than  no  labor  at  all. 

George.  The  Captain  was  telling  me,  though,  that  if  I 
were  at  some  place  in  England,  I  might  get  a  pretty  living 
by  my  boats.  He  said,  that  the  quality,  as  he  called  them, 
would  give  me  five  shillings  apiece  for  them. 

Mr.  Stone.  Very  likely,  and  in  that  case  your  labor  would 
not  be  ill  directed.  The  rich  in  any  country,  who  have  as 
much  as  they  want  of  food,  and  clothes,  and  shelter,  have  a 
right  to  pay  money  for  baubles,  if  they  choose;  and,  in  such 
a  state  of  things,  there  are  always  laborers,  who  are  ready 
to  employ  themselves  in  making  luxuries.  Lace-makers, 
jewellers,  and  glass-cutters  are  respectably  employed  in 
England ;  but  they  would  be  sadly  out  of  place  here,  and 
very  ridiculous. 

Mr.  Hill.  I  am  afraid,  Sir,  that  your  doctrine  would  go 


90  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

far  towards  doing  away  the  difference  between  productive 
and  unproductive  labor.  I  have  been  accustomed  to  think 
productive  laborers  more  valuable  than  unproductive. 

Mr.  Stone.  This  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  the 
word  valuable.  If  you  mean  that  productive  laborers  add 
more  to  the  wealth  of  society,  you  are  right ;  but,  in  every 
civilized  country,  a  mixture  of  productive  and  unproduct- 
ive laborers  is  the  best  for  the  comfort  and  prosperity  of 
society.  What  would  a  nation  do  without  household  ser- 
vants, physicians,  clergymen,  and  lawyers  1  Would  it  not  be 
a  savage  nation. 

George.  But,  Sir,  ours  is  not  a  savage  settlement,  and  yet 
we  have  no  unproductive  laborers.  Everybody  works  very 
hard. 

Mr.  Stone.  However  hard  our  people  work,  they  are  di- 
vided into  productive  and  unproductive  laborers.  Run  over 
a  few  names,  George,  and  divide  them  into  classes. 

George.  Well ;  I  will  try.  The  laborers  on  Robertson's 
farm  and  yours.  Sir,  are  productive  laborers,  because  they 
produce  corn  for  themselves,  and  hay  for  the  horse,  and 
flax  for  our  clothes.  Then,  there  are  the  other  servants, 
who  have  wages  paid  them,  the  Captain's  errand-boy,  and 
your  maid.  Sir,  who  takes  care  of  the  child,  —  and  — 

Mr.  Stone.  Well,  go  on  ;  tell  us  what  they  produce. 

George.  I  really  can't  think  of  any  thing  they  produce. 
Sir ;  I  suppose,  however  useful  they  may  be,  that  domestics 
are  unproductive  laborers.  But  there  are  some  others. 
Fulton  produces  leather  out  of  what  was  the  hide  of  a 
beast ;  and  Harrison  makes  bricks  out  of  what  was  only 
clay;  and  Linby,  —  let  me  see;  what  does  the  farrier  do? 
He  shoes  horses ;  that  is  not  making  any  thing.  He  is  un- 
productive, I  suppose. 

Mr.  Stone.  As  a  farrier ;  —  but  he  is  also  a  smith,  and 
makes  nails  and  implements  of  many  kinds,  out  of  what  was 
only  a  lump  of  iron. 

George.  Then  he  is  a  laborer  of  both  kinds.  That  is 
curious;  and  so  are  you,  Mr.  Hill.  You  make  medicines; 
but  when  you  bleed  your  patients,  or  give  advice,  you  are  an 
unproductive  laborer.  There  is  an  end  then  to  all  objec- 
tions to  unproductive  labor;  for  who  works  harder  than 
Mr.  Hill,  and  how  should  we  get  on  without  him. 

Mr,  Hill.  And  how  do  you  class  yourself,  Mr.  Stone  ? 


THE    POWER    OF    CONSCIENCE.  91 

Mr.  Stone.  Unproductive  in  my  pulpit  and  in  the  school- 
room, but  productive  when  I  am  working  in  the  field.  I 
leave  it  to  my  friends  to  say  in  which  capacity  I  am  most 
useful. 

Mr.  Hill.  You  have  satisfied  my  mind  completely.  I  am 
only  sorry  I  ever  understood  any  reproach  by  the  word  un- 
productive ;  but  1  shall  never  fall  into  the  mistake  again. 


LESSON  XXXVIII.     The  Power  of  Conscience. 

1  Some  days  since,  a  gentleman  from  the  West,  who  was 
stopping  at  one  of  the  principal  hotels  in  Baltimore,  had  re- 
tired to  rest,  when  some  one  entered  his  room,  opened  his 
pocket-book,  and  took  from  it  seven  hundred  dollars.  There 
were  several  thousand  dollars  in  the  book  at  the  time,  and  it 
naturally  excited  wonder  that  any  of  it  should  have  been 
left.    . 

2.  A  few  days  after  the  theft,  the  owner  received  a  note, 
stating  that  a  person  wanted  to  see  him  near  the  Western 
Bank  after  dark,  on  matters  of  importance,  and  it  was  le- 
quested  that  no  one  should  accompany  him.  The  last 
request  was  not,^  however,  complied  with ;  and  the  person 
robbed,  taking  a  friend  with  him,  went  to  the  place  indi- 
cated. 

3.  Upon  arriving  there,  they  found  a  young  man,  well- 
dressed,  and  apparently  well-educated,  who,  at  once,  without 
reserve,  stated  that  he  had  committed  the  robbery  ;  that, 
being  distressed  for  money,  he  had,  in  a  moment  of  desper- 
ation, entered  his  room  and  taken  the  money  from  the 
pocket-book ;  that  he  had  no  idea  at  the  time,  of  the 
amount  he  was  taking ;  but,  upon  examining  it,  and  finding 
that  what  he  had  taken  was  a  five  hundred  and  two  one 
hundred  dollar  notes,  and  then  reflecting  on  the  infamy  of 
the  crime  he  had  committed,  he  was  confounded. 

4.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  sought  to  solace  his  mind  by 
urging  the  necessity  which  prompted  him  to  the  act ;  sleep 
was  banished  from  his  eyes,  and,  a  miserable  being,  he  wan- 
dered about,  shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  every  one  he  en- 
countered, and  expecting  every  moment  to  be  arrested. 
Shame  prevented  him  from  returning  the  money,  and   he 


92  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

took  it  several  miles  from  the  city  and   buried   it.     This 
brought  no  quiet  to  his  disturbed  conscience. 

5.  The  thought  of  his  guilt  was  ever  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  and  he  had  determined  to  return  the  money  through 
the  post-office,  and  dug  it  up,  and  enclosed  it  in  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper  for  that  purpose.  His  honesty  having  so  far 
overcome  the  suggestions  of  pride,  led  him  to  go  further. 
The  return  of  the  money  would  not  relieve  innocent  per- 
sons who  might  be  suspected  ;  and  it  was  this  reflection 
that  had  forced  him,  as  he  said,  to  return  the  money  in  per- 
son. 

6.  Saying  this,  the  young  man  placed  the  money  in  the 
hands  of  its  true  owner,  and  further  remarked,  that  he  was 
in  his  power,  and  desired  to  avoid  no  punish.ment  which  it 
might  be  supposed  he  merited.  The  gentleman  took  it,  and 
bid  him  "  go  and  sin  no  more." 


LESSON  XXXIX.     The  Prodigal  Son.     Luke,  Chap.  xv. 

1.  Then  drew  near  unto  Jesus  all  the  publicans  and  sin- 
ners, for  to  hear  him. 

2.  And  the  Pharisees  and  scribes  murmured,  saying,  This 
man  receiveth  sinners,  and  eateth  with  them. 

3.  And  he  spake  this  parable  unto  them,  saying, 

4.  What  man  of  you,  having  an  hundred  sheep,  if  he 
lose  one  of  them,  doth  not  leave  the  ninety  and  nine  in  the 
wilderness,  and  go  after  that  which  is  lost,  until  he  find  it  ? 

5.  And  when  he  hath  found  it,  he  layeth  it  on  his  shoul- 
ders, rejoicing. 

6.  And  when  he  cometh  home,  he  calleth  together  his 
friends  and  neighbors,  saying  unto  them.  Rejoice  with  me  ; 
for  I  have  found  my  sheep  which  was  lost. 

7.  I  say  unto  you,  that  likewise  joy  shall  be  in  heaven 
over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and 
nine  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance. 

8.  Either  what  woman  having  ten  pieces  of  silver,  if  she 
lose  one  piece,  doth  not  light  a  candle,  and  sweep  the  house, 
and  seek  diligently  till  she  find  it? 

9.  And  when  she  hath  found  it,  she  calleth  her  friends 


THE    PRODIGAL    SON.  93 

and  her  neighbors  together,  saying,  Rejoice  with  me ;   for  I 
have  found  the  piece  which  I  had  lost. 

10.  Likewise  I  say  unto  you,  there  is  joy  in  the  presence 
of  the  angels  of  God  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth. 

11.  And  he  said,  A  certain  man  had  two  sons  ; 

12.  And  the  younger  of  them  said  to  his  father,  Father, 
give  me  the  portion  of  goods  that  falleth  to  me.  And  he 
divided  unto  them  his  living. 

13.  And  not  many  days  after,  the  younger  son  gathered 
all  together,  and  took  his  journey  into  a  far  country,  and 
there  wasted  his  substance  with  riotous  living. 

14.  And  when  he  had  spent  all,  there  arose  a  mighty  fam- 
ine in  that  land ;   and  he  began  to  be  in  want. 

15.  And  he  went  and  joined  himself  to  a  citizen  of  that 
country ;  and  he  sent  him  into  his  fields  to  feed  swine. 

16.  And  he  would  fain  have  filled  his  belly  with  the  husks 
that  the  swine  did  eat ;  and  no  man  gave  unto  him. 

17.  And  when  he  came  to  himself,  he  said.  How  many 
hired  servants  of  my  father's  have  bread  enough  and  to 
spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger ! 

18.  I  will  arise,  and  go  to  my  father,  and  will  say  unto 
him.  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and  before  thee, 

19.  And  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son;  make 
me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants. 

20.  And  he  arose,  and  came  to  his  father.  But  when  he 
was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had  compas- 
sion, and  ran,  and  fell  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

21.  And  the  son  said  unto  him.  Father,  I  have  sinned 
against  heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to 
be  called  thy  son. 

22.  But  the  father  said  to  his  servants.  Bring  forth  the 
best  robe,  and  put  it  on  him ;  and  put  a  ring  on  his  hand, 
and  shoes  on  his  feet ; 

23.  And  bring  hither  the  fatted  calf,  and  kill  it ;  and  let 
us  eat  and  be  merry  ; 

24.  For  this  my  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again  ;  he  was 
lost,  and  is  found.     And  they  began  to  be  merry. 

25.  Now  his  elder  son  was  in  the  field ;  and  as  he  came 
and  drew  nigh  to  the  house,  he  heard  music  and  dancing ; 

26.  And  he  called  one  of  the  servants,  and  asked  what 
these  things  meant. 

27.  And  he  said  unto  him,  Thy  brother  is  come ;  and  thy 


94  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

father  hath  killed   the  fatted  calf,  because  he  hath  received 
him  safe  and  sound. 

28.  And  he  was  angry,  and  would  not  go  in ;  therefore 
came  his  father  out,  and  entreated  him, 

29.  And  he,  answering,  said  to  his  father,  Lo,  these 
many  years  do  I  serve  thee,  neither  transgressed  I  at  any 
time  thy  commandment ;  and  yet  thou  never  gavest  me  a 
kid,  that  I  might  make  merry  with  my  friends  ; 

30.  But  as  soon  as  this  thy  son  was  come,  which  hath  de- 
voured thy  living  with  harlots,  thou  hast  killed  for  him  the 
fatted  calf. 

31.  And  he  said  unto  him,  Son,  thou  art  ever  with  me, 
and  all  that  I  have  is  thine. 

32.  It  was  meet  that  we  should  make  merry,  and  be  glad  : 
for  this  thy  brother  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again  ;  and  was 
lost,  and  is  found. 


LESSON  XL.     To  Seneca  Lake. 

1.  On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake! 

The  wild  swan  spreads  his  snowy  sail  ; 
And  round  his  breast  the  ripples  break. 
As  down  he  bears  before  the  gale. 

2.  On  thy  fair  bosom,  waveless  stream, 

The  dipping  paddle  echoes  far, 
And  flashes  in  the  moonlight  gleam, 
And  bright  reflects  the  polar  star. 

3.  The  waves  along  thy  pebbly  shore. 

As  blows  the  north  wind,  heave  their  foam 
And  curl  around  the  dashing  oar, 
As  late  the  boatman  hies  him  home. 

4.  How  sweet,  at  set  of  sun,  to  view 

Thy  golden  mirror,  spreading  wide. 
And  see  the  mist  of  mantling  blue. 

Float  round  the  distant  mountain's  side. 


A    SYRIAN    DESERT.  95 

5.  At  midnight  hour,  as  shines  the  moon, 

A  sheet  of  silver  spreads  below  ; 
And  swift  she  cuts,  at  highest  noon, 

Light  clouds,  like  wreaths  of  purest  snow. 

6.  On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake  ! 

Oh  !  I  could  ever  sweep  the  oar, 
When  early  birds  at  morning  wake. 
And  evening  tells  us  toil  is  o'er. 


LESSON  XLI.     A  Syrian  Desert. 

1.  I  GALLOPED  over  an  illimitable  plain,  covered  with  a 
vivid,  though  scanty  pasture,  and  fragrant  with  aromatic 
herbs.  A  soft,  fresh  breeze  danced  on  my  cheek,  and  brought 
vigor  to  my  frame.  Day  after  day  I  journeyed,  and  the  land 
indicated  no  termination.  At  an  immense  distance,  the  sky 
and  the  earth  mingled  in  a  uniform  horizon.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  a  rocky  view  shot  out  of  the  soil ;  sometimes,  in- 
deed, the  land  would  swell  into  long  undulations ;  some- 
times, indeed,  from  a  dingle  of  wild  bushes,  a  gazelle  would 
Tush  forward,  stare,  and  bound  away. 

2.  Such  was  my  first  wandering  in  the  Syrian  desert! 
But,  remember,  it  was  the  burst  of  spring.  I  could  con- 
ceive nothing  more  delightful,  nothing  more  unlike  what  I 
had  anticipated.  The  heat  was  never  intense,  the  breeze 
^as  ever  fresh  and  sweet,  the  nocturnal  heavens  clear  and 
/uminous  to  a  degree  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 

3.  Instead  of  that  uniform  appearance  and  monotonous 
splendor  I  had  hitherto  so  often  gazed  on,  the  stars  were  of 
different  tints  and  forms.  Some  were  green,  some  white, 
and  some  red ;  and,  instead  of  appearing  as  if  they  only 
studded  a  vast  and  azure  vault,  I  clearly  distinguished  them, 
at  different  distances,  floating  in  ether.  I  no  longer  won- 
dered at  the  love  of  the  Bedouins  for  their  free  and  un- 
sophisticated life. 

4.  It  appeared  to  me,  that  I  could  live  in  the  desert  for- 
ever. At  night,  we  rested.  Our  camels  bore  us  water  in 
goat-skins,  and  carried  for  us  scanty,  although  sufficient, 
provisions.     We  lighted  our  fire,  pounded  our  coffee,  and 


96  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

smoked  our  pipes,  while  others  prepared  our  simple  meal,  — 
bread  made  at  the  instant,  and  on  the  cinders,  a  slice  of 
dried  meat,  and  a  few  dates. 

5.  I  have  described  the  least  sterile  of  the  deserts,  and 
I  have  described  it  at  the  most  favorable  period.  In  gen- 
eral, the  soil  of  the  Syrian  wilderness  is  not  absolutely 
barren.  The  rains  cover  it  with  verdure,  but  these  occur 
only  for  a  very  few  weeks,  when  the  rigor  of  a  winter  day 
arrests  the  clouds,  and  they  dissolve  in  showers. 

6.  At  all  other  seasons,  the  clouds  glide  over  the  scorched 
and  heated  plain,  which  has  neither  hills  nor  trees  to  attract 
them.  It  is,  then,  the  want  of  water,  which  is  the  occasion 
of  this  sterility.  In  the  desert,  there  is  not  even  a  brook  ; 
springs  are  rare,  and  generally  brackish;  and  it  is  on  the 
artificial  wells,  stored  by  the  rains,  that  the  wanderer  chiefly 
depends. 

7.  From  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates  to  the  shores  of  the 
Red  Sea  :  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile  to  the  Persian  Gulf; 
over  a  spread  of  country  three  times  the  extent  of  Germa- 
ny, Nature,  without  an  interval,  ceases  to  produce.  Benefi- 
cent Nature!  Let  us  not  wrong  her;  for,  even  in  a  land  ap- 
parently so  unfavored,  exists  a  numerous  and  happy  race. 

8.  As  you  wander  along,  the  appearance  of  the  desert 
changes.  The  wilderness,  which  is  comparatively  fertile  in 
Syria,  becomes  rocky  when  you  enter  Arabia,  and  sandy  as 
you  proceed.  Here  in  some  degree,  we  meet  with  the  terri- 
ble idea  of  the  desert  prevalent  in  Europe ;  but  it  is  in 
Africa,  in  the  vast  and  unexplored  regions  of  Lybia  and 
Sahara,  that  we  must  seek  for  that  illimitable  and  stormy 
ocean  of  overwhelming  sand,  which  we  associate  with  the 
popular  idea  of  a  desert. 


LESSON   XLII.     A  Bedouin  Encampment. 

1.  The  sun  was  nearly  setting,  when  an  Arab  horseman, 
armed  with  his  long  lance,  was  suddenly  observed  on  an 
eminence  in  the  distance.  He  galloped  toward  us,  wheeled 
round  and  round,  scudded  away,  again  approached,  and  our 
gu'de,  shouting,  rode  forward  to  meet  him.  They  entered 
into  earnest  conversation,  and  then  joined  us.    Abdallah,  the 


A  BEDOUIN   ENCAMPMENT.  97 

guide,  informed  me,  that  this  was  an  Arab  of  the  tribe  I  in- 
tended to  visit,  and  that  we  were  very  near  their  encampment. 

2.  The  desert  was  here  broken  into  bushy  knolls,  which 
limited  the  view.  Advancing,  and  mounting  the  low  ridge 
on  which  we  had  at  first  observed  the  Bedouin,  Abdallah 
pointed  out  to  me,  at  no  great  distance,  a  large  circle  of  low, 
black  tents,  which  otherwise  I  might  not  have  observed,  or 
have  mistaken  them  in  the  deceptive  twilight,  for  some 
natural  formation. 

3.  On  the  left  of  the  encampment,  was  a  small  grove  of 
palm-trees ;  and,  when  we  had  nearly  gained  the  settlement, 
a  procession  of  women,  in  long  blue  robes,  covering  with 
one  hand  their  faces  with  their  long  veils,  and,  with  the 
other,  supporting  on  their  heads  a  tall  and  classically  formed 
vase,  advanced,  with  a  beautiful  melody,  to  the  fountain, 
which  was  screened  by  the  palm-trees, 

4.  The  dogs  barked ;  some  dark  faces  and  long  match- 
locks suddenly  popped  up  behind  the  tents.  The  Bedouin, 
with  a  shout,  galloped  into  the  encampment,  and  soon  reap- 
peared with  several  of  his  tribe.  We  dismounted;  — I  en- 
tered the  interior  court  of  the  camp,  which  was  filled  with 
camels  and  goats.  There  were  few  persons  visible,  al- 
though, as  I  was  conducted  along  to  the  tent  of  the  chief,  I 
detected  many  faces  staring  at  me  from  behind  the  curtains 
of  their  tents. 

5.  The  pavilion  of  the  Sheik  was  of  considerable  size. 
He  himself  was  a  man  advanced  in  years,  but  hale  and 
lively ;  his  long,  white  beard  curiously  contrasting  with  his 
dark  visage.  He  received  me  sitting  on  a  mat,  his  son 
standing  on  his  right  hand,  without  slippers,  and  a  young 
grandchild  squatting  by  his  side. 

6.  He  welcomed  me  with  the  usaal  Oriental  salutation, 
touching  his  forehead,  his  mouth,  and  his  heart,  while  he 
exclaimed,  '*  Salam,"  thus  indicating  that  all  his  faculties 
and  feelings  were  devoted  to  me.  He  motioned  that  we 
should  seat  ourselves  on  the  unoccupied  mats,  and  taking 
from  his  mouth  a  small  pipe  of  date  wood,  gave  it  to  his  son 
to  bear  to  me.     A  servant  instantly  began  pounding  coffee. 

7.  I  then  informed  him,  through  Abdallah,  that,  having 
heard  of  his  hospitality  and  happy  life,  I  had  journeyed 
even  from  Damascus  to  visit  him  ;  that  I  greatly  admired 
the  Bedouin  character,  and  I  eulogized  their  valor,  their  in- 

9 


98  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

dependence,  their  justice,   and   their   simplicity.     He   an 
swered,  that  he  liked  to  be  visited  by  Franks,  because  they 
were  wise  men,  and  requested  that  I  would  feel  his  pulse. 

8.  I  performed  this  ceremony  with  becoming  gravity,  and 
inquired  whether  he  were  indisposed.  He  said  that  he  was 
well,  but  that  he  might  be  better.  I  told  him  that  his  pulse 
was  healthy  and  strong  for  one  of  his  age,  and  I  begged  to 
examine  his  tongue,  which  greatly  pleased  him ;  and  he  ob- 
served, that  he  was  eighty  years  of  age  and  could  ride  as 
well,  and  as  long,  as  his  son. 

9.  Coffee  was  now  brought.  I  ventured  to  praise  it.  He 
said  it  was  well  for  those  who  had  not  wine.  I  observed, 
that  wine  was  not  suited  to  these  climes,  and  that,  although 
a  Frank,  I  myself  had  renounced  it.  He  answered,  that 
the  Franks  were  fond  of  wine,  but  that  for  his  part  he  had 
never  tasted  it,  although  he  should  like  to  do  so  once. 

10.  I  regretted  that  I  could  not  avail  myself  of  this  deli- 
cate hint,  but  Lausanne  produced  a  bottle  of  eau-de-coIogne, 
and  I  offered  him  a  glass.  He  drank  it  with  great  gravity, 
and  asked  for  somefor  his  son,  observing  it  was  good  raki, 
but  not  wine. 

11.  I  suspected  from  this,  that  he  was  not  totally  unac- 
quainted with  the  flavor  of  the  forbidden  liquor  ;  and  I  dared 
to  remark,  with  a  smile,  that  raki  had  one  advantage  over 
wine,  that  it  was  not  forbidden  by  the  Prophet.  Unlike  the 
Turks,  who  never  understand  a  jest,  he  smiled,  and  then 
said,  that  the  book,  meaning  the  Koran,  was  good  for  men 
who  lived  in  cities,  but  that  God  was  everywhere. 

12.  Several  men  now  entered  the  tent,  leaving  their  slip- 
pers  on  the  outside,  and  some,  saluting  the  Sheik  as  they 
passed,  seated  themselves.  I  now  inquired  after  horses,  and 
asked  him  whether  he  could  assist  me  in  purchasing  some 
of  the  true  breed.  The  old  Sheik's  eyes  sparkled  as  he 
informed  me,  that  he  possessed  four  mares  of  pure  blood, 
and  that  he  would  not  part  with  one,  not  even  for  fifty  thou- 
sand piastres.  After  this  hint,  I  was  inclined  to  drop  the 
subject,  but  the  Sheik  seemed  interested  by  it,  and  inquired 
if  the  Franks  had  any  horses. 

13.  I  answered,  that  some  Frank  nations  were  famous 
for  their  horses,  and  mentioned  the  English,  who  had  bred 
a  superb  race  from  the  Arabs.  He  said  he  had  heard  of 
the  English,  and  asked  me  which  was  the  greatest  nation  of 


^Jt^- 


A   BEDOUIN    ENCAMPMENT.  99 

the  Franks.  I  told  him  there  were  several  equally  power- 
ful, but  perhaps  that  the  English  nation  might  be  fairly 
described  as  the  most  important.  He  answered,  "Ay,  on 
the  sea,  but  not  on  land." 

14.  I  was  surprised  by  the  general  knowledge  indicated 
by  this  remark,  and  more  so,  when  he  further  observed,  that 
there  was  another  nation  stronger  by  land.  I  mentioned 
the  Russians.  He  had  not  heard  of  them,  notwithstanding 
the  recent  war  with  the  Porte.  The  French  1  I  inquired. 
He  knew  the  French,  and  then  told  me,  that  he  had  been  at 
the  siege  of  Acre,  which  explained  all  this  intelligence. 

15.  He  then  inquired  if  I  were  an  Englishman.  I  told  him 
my  country  (Germany),  but  was  not  astonished  that  he  had 
never  heard  of  it.  I  observed,  that  when  the  old  man  spoke, 
he  was  watched  by  his  followers  with  the  greatest  attention ; 
and  they  grinned  with  pride  and  exultation  at  his  knowledge 
of  the  Franks,  showing  their  white  teeth,  elevating  their 
eyes,  and  exchanging  looks  of  wonder. 

16.  Two  women  now  entered  the  tent,  at  which  I  was 
surprised.  They  had  returned  from  the  fountain,  and  wore 
small  black  masks,  which  covered  the  upper  part  of  their 
faces.  They  knelt  down  at  the  fire,  and  made  a  cake  of 
bread,  which  one  of  them  handed  to  me.  I  now  offered  to 
the  Shiek  my  own  pipe,  which  Lausanne  had  prepared. 
Coffee  was  again  handed,  and  a  preparation  of  sour  milk 
and  rice,  not  unpalatable. 

17.  I  offered  the  Sheik  renewed  compliments  on  his  mode 
of  life,  in  order  to  maintain  conversation  ;  for  the  chief, 
although,  like  the  Arabs  in  general,  of  a  very  lively  tempera- 
ment, had  little  of  the  curiosity  of  what  are  considered 
the  more  civilized  of  Orientals,  and  asked  very  few  ques- 
tions. 

"  We  are  content,"  said  the  Sheik. 

''  Then,  believe  me,  you  are  in  the  condition  of  no  other 
people,"  I  replied. 

*'  My  children,"  said  the  Sheik,  "  hear  the  words  of  this 
wise  man !  If  we  lived  with  the  Turks,"  continued  the 
chieftain,  "  we  should  have  more  gold  and  silver,  and  more 
clothes,  and  carpets,  and  baths ;  but  we  should  not  have 
justice  and  liberty.  Our  luxuries  are  few,  but  our  wants 
are  less." 

\S.  *'  Yet  you  have  neither  priests  nor  lawyers," 


100  THE    FOl)RTH    READER. 

"  When  men  are  pure,  laws  are  useless ;  when  men  are 
corrupt,  laws  are  broken." 

*'And  for  priests?" 

**God  is  everywhere." 

The  women  now  entered  with  a  more  substantial  meal, 
the  hump  of  a  young  camel.  I  have  seldom  eaten  any- 
thing more  delicate  and  tender.  This  dish  was  a  great 
compliment,  and  could  only  have  been  offered  by  a  wealthy 
Sheik.     Pipes  and  coffee  followed. 

19.  The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  when,  making  my 
excuses,  I  quitted  the  pavilion  of  the  chieftain,  and  went 
forth  to  view  the  humors  of  the  camp.  The  tali  camels 
crouching  on  their  knees  in  groups,  with  their  outstretched 
necks  and  still  and  melancholy  visages,  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  works  of  art,  had  it  not  been  for  their  process 
of  rumination. 

20.  A  crowd  was  assembled  round  a  fire,  before  which  a 
poet  recited  impassioned  verses.  I  observed  the  slight 
forms  of  the  men,  short  and  meagre,  agile,  dry,  and  dark, 
with  teeth  dazzling  white,  and  quick,  black,  glancing  eyes. 
They  were  dressed  in  cloaks  of  coarse  black  cloth,  appa- 
rently of  the  same  stuff  as  their  tents,  and  few  of  them,  I 
should  imagine,  exceeded  five  feet,  two  or  three  inches,  in 
height. 

21.  The  women  mingled  v.ith  the  men,  although  a  few 
affected  to  conceal  their  faces  on  my  approach.  They  were 
evidently  deeply  interested  in  the  poetic  recital.  One  pas- 
sage excited  their  loud  applause.  I  inquired  its  purport  of 
Abdallah,  who  thus  translated  it  to  me.  A  lover  beholds 
his  mistress,  her  face  covered  with  a  red  veil.  Thus  he  ad- 
dresses her ; 

"  Oh  !  withdraw  that  red  veil,  withdraw  that  red  veil ! 
Let  me  behold  the  beauty  that  it  shrouds  !  Yes !  let  that 
rosy  twilight  fade  away,  and  let  the  full  moon  rise  to  my 
vision  ! " 

22.  Beautiful !  yet  more  beautiful  in  the  language  of  the 
Arabs,  for  in  that  rich  tongue,  there  are  words  to  describe 
each  species  of  twilight,  and,  where  we  are  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  an  epithet,  the  Arabs  reject  the  feeble  and  un- 
necessary aid. 

23.  It  was  late  ere  I  retired ;  and  I  stretched  myself  on 
my  mat.  musing  over  this  singular  people,  who  combined 


THE  CLOUDS.  ...,.,  ;',ljDl 

primitive  simplicity  of  habits  with  the  most  refined  feelings 
of  civilization,  and  who  in  a  great  degree  appeared  to  me  to 
offer  an  evidence  of  that  community  of  property,  and  that 
equality  of  condition,  which  have  hitherto  proved  the  de- 
spair of  European  sages,  and  fed  only  the  visions  of  their 
fancied  Utopias. 


LESSON    XLIII.     The  I'isherman. 

1.  A  PERILOUS  life,  and  sad  as  life  may  be, 
Hath  the  lone  fisher  on  the  lonely  sea  ; 

In  the  wild  waters  laboring,  far  from  home. 
For  some  poor  pittance,  e'er  compelled  to  roam  ! 
Few  friends  to  cheer  him  in  his  dangerous  life, 
And  none  to  aid  him  in  the  stormy  strife. 
Companion  of  the  sea  and  silent  air, 
The  lonely  fisher  thus  must  ever  fare  ; 
Without  the  comfort,  hope, — with  scarce  a  friend, 
He  looks  through  life,  and  only  sees  —  its  end  ! 

2.  Eternal  Ocean !  Old  majestic  Sea ! 
Ever  love  I  from  shore  to  look  on  thee. 
And  sometimes  on  thy  billowy  back  to  ride. 
And  sometimes  o'er  thy  summer  breast  to  glide ; 
But  let  me  live  on  land,  —  Vv'here  rivers  run, 
Where  shady  trees  may  screen  me  from  the  sun  ; 
Where  I  may  feel,  secure,  the  fragrant  air  ; 
Where,  whate'er  toil  or  wearying  pains  I  bear. 

Those  eyes,  which  look  away  all  human  ill, 
May  shed  on  me  their  still,  sweet,  constant  light; 
And  the  little  hearts  I  love,  may,  day  and  night, 

Be  found  beside  me,  safe  and  clustering  still. 


LESSON  XLIV.     The  Clouds. 

1.  O  CLOUDS  !  ye  ancient  messengers, 
Old  couriers  of  the  sky. 
Treading,  as  in  primeval  years. 
Yon  still  immensity. 
9* 


iQi-  ;  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

In  march  how  wildly  beautiful 
Along  the  deep  ye  tower, 

Begirt,  as  when  from  chaos  dull 
Ye  loomed  in  pride  and  power, 
To  crown  creation's  morning  hour. 

2.  Ye  linger  with  the  silver  stars, 

Ye  pass  before  the  sun,  — 
Ye  marshal  elements  to  wars, 

And,  when  the  roar  is  done, 
Ye  lift  your  volumed  robes  in  light, 

And  wave  them  to  the  world, 
Like  victory  flags  o'er  scattered  fight, 

Brave  banners  all  unfurled,  — 

Still  there,  though  rent  and  tempest-hurled. 

3.  And  then,  in  still  and  summer  hours. 

When  men  sit  weary  down, 
Ye  come  o'er  heated  fields  and  flowers, 

With  shadowy  pinions  on ; 
Ye  hover  where  the  fervent  earth 

A  saddened  silence  fills. 
And,  mourning  o'er  its  stricken  mirth. 

Ye  weep  along  the  hills,  — 

Then  how  the  wakening  landscape  thrills  ! 


LESSON   XLV.     The  Village  Bells, 

\.  Who  does  not  love  the  village  bells  ? 
The  cheerful  peal  and  solemn  toll, — 
One  of  the  rustic  wedding  tells, 
And  one  bespeaks  a  parting  soul. 

2.  The  lark  in  sunshine  sings  his  song  ; 

And,  dressed  in  garments  white  and  gay, 
The  village  lasses  trip  along, 

For  this  is  Susan's  wedding  day, 

3.  Ah  !  gather  flowers  of  sweetest  hue. 

Young  violets  from  the  bank's  green  side, 


JERUSALEM.  IO3 


And  on  poor  Mary's  coffin  strew, 
For  in  the  bloom  of  youth  she  died. 

4.  So  passes  life !  —  the  smile,  the  tear, 
Succeed,  as  on  our  path  we  stray ; 
**  Thy  kingdom  come ;  for  we  are  here 
As  guests,  who  tarry  but  a  day." 


LESSON   XLVI.     Jerusalem. 

1.  A  Syrian  village  is  very  beautiful  in  the  centre  of  a 
fertile  plain.  The  houses  are  isolated,  and  each  surround- 
ed by  palm-trees ;  the  meadows  are  divided  by  rich  planta- 
tions of  Indian  figs,  and  bounded  by  groves  of  olive. 

2.  In  the  distance  rose  a  chain  of  severe  and  savage 
mountains.  I  was  soon  wandering,  and  for  hours,  in  the 
wild,  stony  ravines  of  those  shaggy  rocks.  At  length,  af- 
ter several  passes,  I  gained  the  ascent  of  a  high  mountain. 
Upon  an  opposite  height,  descending  into  a  steep  ravine,  and 
forming,  with  the  elevation  on  which  I  rested,  a  dark,  nar- 
row gorge,  I  beheld  a  city  entirely  surrounded  by  what  I 
should  have  considered  in  Europe  an  old  feudal  wall,  with 
towers  and  gates. 

3.  The  city  was  built  upon  an  ascent;  and,  from  the  height 
on  which  I  stood,  I  could  discern  the  terrace  and  the  cupo- 
la of  almost  every  house,  and  the  wall  upon  the  other  side, 
rising  from  the  plain  ;  the  ravine  extending  only  on  the 
side  to  which  I  was  opposite.  The  city  was  in  a  bowl  of 
mountains. 

4.  In  the  front  was  a  magnificent  mosque,  with  beautiful 
gardens,  and  many  light  and  lofty  gates  of  triumph ;  a  vari- 
ety of  domes  and  towers  rose  in  all  directions  from  the 
buildings  of  bright  stone. 

5.  Nothing  could  be  conceived  more  wild,  and  terrible, 
and  desolate,  than  the  surrounding  scenery;  more  dark,  and 
stony,  and  severe;  but  the  ground  was  thrown  about  in 
such  picturesque  undulations,  that  the  mind,  full  of  the  sub- 
lime, required  not  the  beautiful ;  and  rich  and  waving 
woods,   and  sparkling  cultivation,  would  have  been   mis- 


104  rilE  FOURTH   READER. 

placed.     Except  Athens,  I  had  never  witnessed  any  scene 
more  essentially  impressive. 

6.  I  will  not  place  this  spectacle  below  the  city  of  Miner- 
va. Athens  and  the  holy  city  in  their  glory  must  have  been 
the  finest  representations  of  the  beautiful  and  the  sublime,  — 
the  holy  city,  —  for  the  elevation  on  which  I  stood  was  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  city  on  which  I  gazed  was  Jeru- 
salem !  The  dark  gorge  beneath  me  was  the  vale  of  Je- 
hoshaphat ;  further  on  was  the  fountain  of  Siloah.  I  entered 
by  the  gate  of  Bethlehem,  and  sought  hospitality  at  the 
Latin  convent  of  Terra  Santa. 

7.  Easter  was  approaching,  and  the  city  was  crowded 
with  pilgrims.  I  had  met  many  caravans  in  my  progress. 
The  convents  of  Jerusalem  are  remarkable.  That  of  the 
Armenian  Christians,  at  this  time,  afforded  accommodation 
for  four  thousand  pilgrims.  It  is  a  town  of  itself,  and  pos- 
sesses within  its  walls  streets  and  shops. 

8.  The  Greek  convent  held  perhaps  half  as  many.  And 
the  famous  Latin  convent  of  Terra  Santa,  endowed  by  all 
the  monarchs  of  Catholic  Christendom,  could  boast  only  of 
one  pilgrim,  myself.  The  Europeans  have  ceased  to  visit 
the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

9.  As  for  the  interior  of  Jerusalem,  it  is  hilly  and  clean. 
The  houses  are  of  stone,  and  well  built,  but,  like  all 
Asiatic  mansions,  they  offer  nothing  to  the  eye  but  blank 
walls  and  dull  portals.  The  mosque  I  had  admired  was  the 
famous  mosque  of  Omar,  built  upon  the  supposed  site  of  the 
Temple.  It  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Mahometan 
temples;  but  the  Frank,  even  in  the  Eastern  dress,  enters 
it  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 

10.  The  Turks  of  Syria  have  not  been  contaminated  by 
the  heresies  of  their  enlightened  Sultan.  In  Damascus,  it 
is  impossible  to  appear  in  the  Frank  dress  without  being 
pelted ;  and  although  they  would  condescend,  perhaps,  at 
Jerusalem,  to  permit  an  infidel  dog  to  walk  about  in  his  na- 
tional dress,  he  would  not  escape  many  a  curse,  and  many 
a  scornful  exclamation  of  '  Giaor ! ' 

11.  There  is  only  one  way  to  travel  in  the  East  with  ease, 
and  that  is  with  an  appearance  of  pomp.  The  Turks  are 
much  influenced  by  the  exterior,  and,  although  they  are  not 
mercenary,  a  well-dressed  and  well-attended  infidel  will 
command  respect. 


EGYPT.  105 

12.  The  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  nearly  in  the 
middle  of  the  city,  and  professedly  built  upon  Mount  Calva- 
ry, which  it  is  alleged  was  levelled  for  the  structure.  With- 
in its  walls,  they  have  contrived  to  assemble  the  scenes  of  a 
vast  number  of  incidents  in  the  life  of  the  Saviour,  with  a 
highly  romantic  violation  of  the  unity  of  place.  Here,  the 
sacred  feet  were  anointed ;  there,  the  sacred  garments  par- 
celled ;  from  the  pillar  of  the  scourging  to  the  rent  of  the 
rock,  all  is  exhibited  in  a  succession  of  magical  scenes. 

13.  The  truth  is,  the  whole  is  an  ingenious  fiction  of  a 
comparatively  recent  date,  and  we  are  indebted  to  that  fa- 
vored individual,  the  Empress  Helen,  for  this  exceedingly 
clever  creation,  as  well  as  for  the  discovery  of  the  true  cross. 
The  learned  believe,  and  with  reason,  that  Calvary  is  at 
present,  as  formerly,  without  the  walls,  and  that  we  must 
seek  for  the  celebrated  elevation  in  the  lofty  hill,  now  called 
Sion. 

14.  The  church  is  a  spacious  building,  surmounted  by  a 
dome.  Attached  to  it  are  the  particular  churches  of  the 
various  Christian  sects,  and  many  chapels  and  sanctuaries. 
Mass,  in  some  part  or  other,  is  constantly  celebrating,  and 
companies  of  pilgrims  may  be  observed  in  all  directions, 
visiting  the  holy  places  and  offering  their  devotions. 

15.  Latin,  and  Armenian,  and  Greek  friars  are  every- 
where moving  about.  The  court  is  crowded  with  the 
venders  of  relics  and  rosaries.  The  Church  of  the  Sepul- 
chre itself  is  a  point  of  common  union,  and,  in  its  bustle, 
and  lounging  character,  rather  reminded  me  of  an  ex- 
change, than  a  temple. 


LESSON  XLVIL     Egypt. 

1.  A  RIVER  is  suddenly  found  flowing  through  the  wilder- 
ness; its  source  is  unknown.  On  one  side  are  intermin- 
able wastes  of  sand,  on  the  other,  a  rocky  desert  and  a 
narrow  sea.  Thus  it  rolls  on  for  five  hundred  miles,  throw- 
ing up  on  each  side,  to  the  extent  of  about  three  leagues,  a 
soil  fertile  as  a  garden.  Within  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
of  the  sea,  it  divides  into  two  branches,  which  wind  through 


10(5  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

an  immense  plain,  once  the  granary  of  the  world.     Such  is 
Egypt ! 

2.  From  the  cataracts  of  Nubia  to  the  gardens  of  the 
Delta,  in  a  course  of  twelve  hundred  miles,  the  banks  of  the 
Nile  are  covered  at  slight  intervals  with  temples  and  cata^ 
combs,  pyramids,  and  painted  chambers.  The  rock  temples 
of  Ipsambol,  guarded  by  colossal  forms,  are  within  the  roar 
of  the  second  cataract ;  avenues  of  sphinxes  lead  to  Derr^ 
the  chief  town  of  Nubia. 

3.  From  Derr  to  the  first  cataract,  the  Egyptian  bounda- 
ry, a  series  of  rock  temples  conduct  to  the  beautiful  and 
sacred  buildings  of  Philae ;  Edfou  and  Esneh  are  a  fine 
preparation  for  the  colossal  splendor  and  the  massy  grace 
of  ancient  Thebes. 

4.  Even  after  the  inexhaustible  curiosity  and  varied  mag- 
nificence of  this  unrivalled  record  of  ancient  art,  the  beau- 
tiful Dendera,  a  consummate  blending  of  Egyptian  imagina- 
tion and  Grecian  taste,  will  command  your  enthusiastic 
gaze ;  and,  if  the  catacombs  of  Siout,  and  the  chambers  of 
Benihassen  prove  less  fruitful  of  interest  after  the  tombs  of 
the  Kings,  and  the  cemeteries  of  Gornou,  before  you  are  the 
obelisks  of  Memphis,  and  the  pyramids  of  Gizeh,  Saccarah, 
and  Dashour  ! 

5.  The  traveller  who  crosses  the  desert,  and  views  the 
Nile  with  its  lively  villages,  clustered  in  groves  of  palm,  and 
its  banks  entirely  lined  with  that  graceful  tree,  will  bless 
with  sincerity  that  "  Father  of  Waters,"  'T  is  a  rich 
land,  and  indeed  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  The  Delta, 
in  its  general  appearance,  somewhat  reminded  me  of  Belgi- 
um. The  soil  everywhere  is  a  rich,  black  mud,  without  a 
single  stone. 

6.  The  land  is  so  uniformly  flat,  that  those  who  arrive  by 
sea  do  not  detect  it  until  within  half  a  dozen  miles,  when  a 
palm-tree  creeps  upon  the  horizon  ;  and  then  you  observe 
the  line  of  land  that  supports  it.  The  Delta  is  intersected 
by  canals,  that  are  filled  with  the  rising  Nile.  It  is  by 
their  medium,  and  not  by  the  absolute  overflowing  of  the 
river,  that  the  country  is  periodically  deluged. 

7.  The  Arabs  are  gay,  witty,  vivacious,  and  very  suscepti- 
ble and  acute.  It  is  difficult  to  render  them  miserable,  and 
a  beneficent  government  might  find  in  them  the  most  valu- 
able subjects.     A  delightful  climate  is  some  compensatiou 


EGYPT.  107 

fof  a  gfinding  tyranny.  Every  night,  as  they  row  along  the 
moon-lit  river,  the  boatmen  join  in  a  melodious  chorus,  shouts 
of  merriment  burst  from  each  illumined  village,  every- 
where are  heard  the  bursts  of  laughter  and  of  music,  and, 
wherever  you  stop,  you  are  saluted  by  the  dancing-girls. 

8.  These  are  always  graceful  in  their  craft ;  sometimes 
very  agreeable  in  their  persons.  They  are  gayly,  even 
richly  dressed ;  in  bright  colors,  with  their  hair  braided  with 
pearls,  and  their  necks  and  foreheads  adorned  with  strings 
of  gold  coins.  In  their  voluptuous  dance,  we  at  once  de- 
tect the  origin  of  the  boleros,  fandangos,  and  castanets  of 
Spain, 

9.  I  admire  very  much  the  Arab  women.  They  are  very 
delicately  moulded.  Never  have  I  seen  such  little,  twinkling 
feet,  aad  such  small  hands.  Their  complexion  is  clear,  and 
not  dark )  their  features  beautifully  formed,  an<i  sharply  de- 
fined ;  their  eyes   bright  with  intelligence. 

10.  The  traveller  is  delighted  to  find  himself  in  an  Ori- 
ental country  where  the  women  are  not  imprisoned  and 
scarcely  veiled.  For  a  long  time,  I  could  not  detect  the 
reason  why  I  was  so  charmed  with  Egyptian  life.  At  last, 
I  recollected  that  I  had  recurred,  after  a  long  estrangement, 
to  the  cheerful  influence  of  women. 

11.  Cairo  is  situate  on  the  base  of  considerable  hills, 
whose  origin  cannot  be  accounted  for,  but  which  are  un- 
doubtedly artificial.  They  are  formed  by  the  ruins  and  rub- 
bish of  long  centuries.  When  I  witness  these  extraordi- 
nary formations,  which  are  not  uncommon  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Eastern  cities,  I  am  impressed  with  the  idea  of  the 
immense  antiquity  of  Oriental  society. 

12.  There  is  a  charm  about  Cairo,  and  it  is  this,  —  that 
it  is  a  capital  in  a  desert.  In  one  moment,  you  are  in  the 
stream  of  existence,  and  in  the  other  in  boundless  solitude, 
or,  which  is  still  more  awful,  in  the  silence  of  tombs.  I 
speak  of  the  sepulchres  of  the  Mamlouk  Sultans  without  the 
city.  They  form  what  may  indeed  be  styled  a  city  of  the 
dead,  an  immense  Necropolis,  full  of  exquisite  buildings, 
domes  covered  with  fret-work,  and  minarets  carved  and 
moulded  with  rich  and  elegant  fancy. 

13.  To  me  they  proved  much  more  interesting  than  the 
far-famed  Pyramids,  although  their  cones  at  a  distance  are 
indeed  sublime,  —  their  grey  cones,  soaring  in  the  light  bluo 


108  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

sky.  The  genius  that  has  raised  the  tombs  of  the  sultans, 
may  also  be  traced  in  many  of  the  mosques  of  the  city,  — 
splendid  specimens  of  Saracenic  architecture.  In  gazing 
upon  these  brilliant  creations,  and  also  upon  those  of  ancient 
Egypt,  I  have  often  been  struck  by  the  felicitous  system 
which  they  display,  of  ever  forming  the  external  ornaments 
of  inscriptions. 

14.  How  far  excelling  the  Grecian  and  Gothic  method ! 
Instead  of  a  cornice  of  flowers,  or  an  entablature  of  un- 
meaning fancy,  how  superior  to  be  reminded  of  the  power 
of  the  Creator,  or  the  necessity  of  governments,  the  deeds 
of  conquerors,  or  the  discovery  of  arts. 


LESSON  XLVIII.     Falls  of  the  Niagara. 

1.  There  is  a  power  and  beauty,  I  may  say  a  divinity, 
in  rushing  waters,  felt  by  all  who  acknowledge  any  sympa- 
thy with  nature.  The  mountain  stream,  leaping  from  rock 
to  rock,  and  winding,  foaming,  and  glancing  through  its  de- 
vious and  stony  channels,  arrests  the  eye  of  the  most  care- 
less or  business-bound  traveller  ;  sings  to  the  heart,  and 
haunts  the  memory,  of  the  man  of  taste  and  imagination; 
and  holds,  as  by  some  indefinable  spell,  the  affections  of  those 
who  inhabit  its  borders. 

2.  A  waterfall,  of  even  a  few  feet  in  height,  will  enliven 
the  dullest  scenery,  and  lend  a  charm  to  the  loveliest ;  while 
a  high  and  headlong  cataract  has  always  been  ranked  among 
the  sublimest  objects  to  be  found  in  the  compass  of  the 
globe. 

3.  It  is  no  matter  of  surprise,  therefore,  that  lovers  of 
nature  perform  journeys  of  homage  to  that  sovereign  of 
cataracts,  that  monarch  of  all  pouring  floods,  the  Falls  of 
Niagara.  It  is  no  matter  of  surprise,  that,  although  situated 
in  what  might  have  been  called,  a  few  years  ago,  but  can- 
not be  now,  the  wilds  of  North  America,  five  hundred  miles 
from  the  Atlantic  coast,  travellers  from  all  civilized  parts  of 
the  world  have  encountered  all  the  difficulties  and  fatigues 
of  the  path,  to  behold  this  prince  of  water-falls  amidst  its 
ancient  solitudes,  and  that,  more  recently,  the  broad  high-' 
ways  to  its  dominions  have  been  thronged. 


FALLS    OF    THE    NIAGARA.  109 

4.  By  universal  consent,  it  has  long  ago  been  proclaimed 
one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world.  It  is  alone  in  its  kind. 
Though  a  waterfall,  it  is  not  to  be  compared  with  other 
waterfalls.  In  its  majesty,  its  supremacy,  and  its  influence 
on  the  soul  of  man,  its  brotherhood  is  with  the  living  ocean 
and  the  eternal  hills, 

5.  I  am  humbly  conscious,  that  no  words  of  mine  can 
give  an  adequate  description,  or  convey  a  satisfactory  idea, 
of  Niagara  Falls.  But,  having  just  returned  from  a  visit  to 
them,  with  the  impression  which  they  made  upon  my  mind 
fresh  and  deep,  I  may  hope  to  impart,  at  least,  a  faint  image 
of  that  impression,  to  the  minds  of  those  who  have  not  seen 
them,  and  retouch,  perhaps,  some  fading  traces  in  the  minds 
of  those  who  have.  Our  journey  over,  we  approached  the 
falls,  but  turned  aside  to  have  a  near  view  of  the  rapids. 

G.  Here,  all  is  tumult  and  impetuous  haste.  The  view  is 
something  like  that  of  the  sea  in  a  violent  gale.  Thousands 
of  waves  dash  eagerly  forward,  and  indicate  the  inter- 
ruptions which  they  meet  with  from  the  hidden  rocks,  by 
ridges  and  streaks  of  foam.  Terminating  this  angry  picture, 
you  distinguish  the  crescent  rim  of  the  British  Fall,  over 
which  the  torrent  falls  and  disappears. 

7.  The  wildness  and  the  solitude  of  the  scene  are  striking- 
ly impressive.  Nothing  that  lives  is  to  be  seen  in  its  whole 
extent.  Nothing  that  values  its  life  ever  ventures  it  there. 
The  waters  refuse  the  burden  of  man,  and  of  man's  works. 
Of  this  they  give  fair  and  audible  warning,  of  which  all 
take  heed.  They  have  one  engrossing  object  before  them, 
and  they  go  to  its  accomplishment  alone. 

8.  Returning  to  the  road,  we  ride  the  last  half  mile, 
gradually  ascending,  till  we  come  to  the  public  house.  A 
foot-path  through  the  garden,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
down  a  steep  and  thickly-wooded  bank,  brings  us  upon 
Table  Rock,  a  flat  ledge  of  limestone  forming  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  the  upper  stratum  of  which  is  a  jagged  shelf, 
no  more  than  about  a  foot  in  thickness,  jutting  out  over  the 
gulf  below. 

9.  Here  the  whole  scene  breaks  upon  us.  Looking  up 
the  river,  we  face  the  grand  crescent,  called  the  British  or 
Horse-Shoe  Fall.  Opposite  to  us  is  Goat  Island,  which 
divides  the  Falls,  and  lower  down  to  the  left,  is  the  Ameri 

10 


110  THE   FOURTH    READER 

can  Fall.  And  what  is  the  first  impression  made  upon  th« 
beholder  ?  Decidedly,  I  should  say,  that  of  beauty ;  of 
sovereign  beauty,  it  is  true,  but  still  that  of  beauty,  rather 
than  of  awful  sublimity. 

10.  Everything  is  on  so  large  a  scale ;  the  height  of  the 
cataract  is  so  much  exceeded  by  its  breadth,  and  so  much 
concealed  by  jtbe  volumes  of  mist  which  wrap  and  shroud 
its  feet ;  you  stand  so  directly  on  the  same  level  with  the 
falling  waters  ;  you  see  so  large  a  portion  of  them  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  you,  and  their  roar  comes  up  so 
moderated  from  the  deep  abyss,  that  the  loveliness  of  the 
scene,  at  first  sight,  is  permitted  to  take  precedence  of  its 
grandeur. 

11.  Its  color  alone  is  of  the  most  exquisite  kind.  The 
deep  sea-green  of  the  centre  of  the  crescent,  where,  it  is 
probable,  the  greatest  mass  of  water  falls,  lit  up  with  succes- 
sive flashes  of  foam,  and  contrasted  with  the  rich  creamy 
whiteness  of  the  two  sides  or  wings  of  the  same  crescent ; 
then  the  sober  gray  of  the  opposite  precipice  of  Goat  Island, 
crowned  with  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  its  forest  trees,  and 
connected  still  further  on  with  the  pouring  snows  of  the 
greater  and  less  American  Falls  ;  the  agitated  and  foamy 
surface  of  the  water  at  the  bottom  of  the  falls,  followed  by 
the  darkness  of  their  hue  as  they  sweep  along  through  the 
perpendicular  gorge  beyond  ;  the  mist,  floating  about  and 
veiling  objects  with  a  softening  indistinctness;  and  the 
bright  rainbow  which  is  constant  to  the  sun, —  altogether 
form  a  combination  of  color,  changing,  too,  with  every 
change  of  light,  every  variation  of  the  wind,  and  every  hour 
of  the  day,  which  the  painter's  art  cannot  imitate,  and 
which  Nature  herself,  has,  perhaps,  only  effected  here. 

J  2.  And  the  motion  of  these  falls,  how  wonderfully  fine 
it  is!  how  graceful,  how  stately,  how  calm  !  There  is  noth- 
ing in  it  hurried  or  headlong,  as  you  might  have  supposed. 
The  eye  is  so  long  in  measuring  the  vast,  and  yet  unac- 
knowledged height,  that  they  seem  to  move  over  almost 
slowly  ;  the  central  and  most  voluminous  portion  of  the 
Horse-Shoe  even  goes  down  silently. 

13.  The  truth  is,  that  pompous  phrases  cannot  describe 
these  Falls.  Calm  and  deeply-meaning  words  should  alone 
be  used  in  speaking  of  them.      Anything    like  hyperbole 


FALLS   OF    THE    NIAGARA.  lU 

would  degrade  them,  if  they  could  be  degraded.  But  they 
cannot  be.  Neither  the  words  nor  the  deeds  of  man  de- 
grade or  disturb  them. 

14.  There  they  flow  ever,  in  their  collected  might.  And 
dignified,  flowing  steadily,  constantly,  as  they  always  have 
been  pouring  since  they  came  from  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 
you  can  add  nothing  to  them,  nor  can  you  take  anything 
from  them. 

15.  As  I  rose,  on  the  morning  following  my  arrival,  and 
went  to  the  window  for  an  early  view,  a  singular  fear  came 
over  me  that  the  falls  might  have  passed  away,  though  their 
sound  was  in  my  ears.  It  was,  to  be  sure,  rather  the  shadow 
of  a  fear  than  a  fear,  and  reason  dissipated  it  as  soon  as 
it  was  formed. 

16.  But  the  bright  things  of  earth  are  so  apt  to  be  fleet- 
ing, and  we  are  so  liable  to  lose  what  is  valued,  as  soon  as  it 
is  bestowed,  that  I  believe  it  was  a  perfectly  natural  feeling 
which  suggested  to  me  for  an  instant,  that  I  had  enjoyed 
quite  as  much  of  such  a  glorious  exhibition  as  1  deserved, 
and  that  I  had  no  right  to  expect  that  it  would  continue,  as 
long  as  I  might  be  pleased  to  behold  it. 

17.  But  the  Falls  were  there,  with  their  full,  regular,  and 
beautiful  flowing.  The  clouds  of  spray  and  mist  were  now 
dense  and  high,  and  completely  concealed  the  opposite 
shores  ;  but  as  the  day  advanced,  and  the  beams  of  the  sun 
increased  in  power,  they  were  thinned  and  contracted. 
Presently  a  thunder  shower  rose  up  from  the  west,  and 
passed  directly  over  us  ;  and  soon  another  came,  still  heavier 
than  the  preceding. 

18.  And  now  I  was  more  impressed  than  ever  with  the 
peculiar  motion  of  the  Fall,  not  however  because  it  expe- 
rienced a  change,  but  because  it  did  not.  The  lightning 
gleamed,  the  thunder  pealed,  the  rain  fell  in  torrents ;  the 
storms  were  grand ;  but  the  Fall,  if  I  may  give  its  ex- 
pression a  language,  did  not  heed  them  at  all  !  the  rapids 
poured  on  with  the  same  quiet  solemnity,  with  the  same 
equable  intentness,  undisturbed  by  the  lightning  and  rain, 
and  listening  not  to  the  loud  thunder. 


112  THE    FOURTH    READER 


LESSON  XLIX.     The  Bashful  Man. 

1.  I  HAD  taken  a  letter  of  introduction  from  a  friend  to 
a  genteel  family  at  Paris,  a*nd,  having  delivered  it,  was,  after 
a  few  days,  invited  to  dinner.  After  various  awkward  mis- 
haps, arising  from  my  bashfuJness,  we  were  finally  seated 
at  table,  my  place  being  next  a  young  lady  whom  1  was  ex- 
pected to  entertain. 

2.  The  ordinary  routine  of  a  French  dinner  now  com- 
menced ;  soup  and  bouiili,  fish,  and  fowl,  and  flesh ;  while 
a  regular  series  of  servants  appeared  each  instant  at  our 
elbows,  inviting  us  to  partake  of  a  thousand  different  dishes, 
and  as  many  different  kinds  of  wines,  all  under  strings 
of  names  which  I  no  more  understood,  than  I  under- 
stood their  composition,  or  than  they  did  my  gaucheries. 
Resolved  to  avoid  all  further  opportunities  for  displaying  my 
predominant  trait,  I  sat  in  the  most  obstinate  silence,  saying 
**  Om/,"  to  every  thing  that  was  offered  me,  and  eating  with 
most  devoted  application. 

3.  But  **  let  no  one  call  himself  happy  before  death," 
said  Solon;  and  he  said  wisely.  The  "ides  of  March" 
were  not  yet  over.  Before  us  was  set  a  dish  of  cauliflower, 
nicely  done  in  butter.  This  I  naturally  enough  took  for  a 
custard  pudding,  which  it  sufficiently  resembled.  Unfortu- 
nately, my  vocabulary  was  not  yet  extensive  enough  to  em- 
brace all  the  technicalities  of  the  table  ;  and  when  my  fair 
neighbor  inquired  if  I  were  fond  of  chou-jleur,  I  verily 
took  it  to  be  the  French  for  custard  pudding,  instead  of 
cauliflower ;  and,  so  high  was  my  panegyric  on  it,  that  my 
plate  was  soon  bountifully  laden  with  it.  Alas  !  one  single 
mouthful  was  enough  to  dispel  my  illusion. 

4.  Would  to  Heaven  that  the  chou-fleiir  had  vanished  along 
with  it.  But  that  remained  bodily  ;  and,  as  I  gazed  de- 
spondingly  at  the  huge  mass,  that  loomed  up  almost  as  large 
and  as  burning  as  Vesuvius,  my  heart  died  within  me. 
Ashamed  to  confess  my  mistake,  though  I  could  almost  as 
readily  have  swallowed  an  equal  quantity  of  soft  soap,  I 
struggled  manfully  on,  against  the  diabolical  compound.  I 
endeavored  to  sap  the  mountainous  heap  at  its  base  ;  and, 
shutting  my  eyes  and  opening  my  mouth,  to  inhume  as  large 
masses  as  I  could,  without  stopping  to  taste  it.     But   my 


THE    BASHFUL   MAN.  113 

Stomach  soon  began,  intelligibly  enough,  to  intimate  its  in- 
tention to  admit  no  more  of  this  nauseous  stranger  beneath 
its  roof,  if  not  even  of  expelling  that  which  had  already 
gained  unwelcome  admittance. 

5.  The  seriousness  of  the  task  I  had  undertaken,  and  the 
resolution  necessary  to  execute  it,  had  given  an  earnestness 
and  rapidity  to  my  exertions,  which  appetite  would  not  have 
inspired;  when  my  plate,  having  somehow  got  over  the  edge 
of  the  table,  upon  my  leaning  forward,  tilted  up,  and  down 
slid  the  disgusting  mass  into  my  lap.  My  handkerchief, 
unable  to  bear  so  weighty  a  load,  bent  under  in  its  turn ;  and 
a  great  proportion  of  it  was  thus  safely  deposited  in  my  hat. 
The  plate  instantly  righted  itself,  as  I  raised  my  person  ; 
and  as  I  gianced  my  eye  round  the  table,  and  saw  that  no 
one  had  noticed  my  disaster,  I  inwardly  congratulated  my- 
self that  the  nauseous  deception  was  so  happily  disposed  of. 
Resolving  not  be  detected,  I  instantly  rolled  my  handker- 
chief together,  with  all  its  remaining  contents,  and  whipped 
it  into  my  pocket. 

6.  The  dinner-table  was  at  length  deserted  for  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  coffee  and  liqueurs  were  served  round. 
Meantime,  I  had  sought  out,  what  I  considered  a  safe  hiding- 
place  for  my  hat,  beneath  a-  chair  in  the  dining-room,  for  I 
dared  not  carry  it  longer  in  my  hand  ;  having  first  thrown  a 
morsel  of  paper  into  the  crown,  to  hide  the  cauliflower  from 
view,  should  any  one  chance,  in  looking  for  his  own  hat,  to 
look  into  mine. 

7.  On  my  return  to  the  drawing-room,  I  chanced  to  be 
again  seated  by  the  lady,  by  whom  I  had  sat  at  dinner.  Our 
conversation  was  naturally  resumed  ;  and  we  were  in  the 
midst  of  an  animated  discussion,  when  a  huge  spider  was 
seen  running,  like  a  race-horse,  up  her  arm.  "  Take  it  off, 
take  it  off  I  "  she  ejaculated  in  a  terrified  tone. 

8.  I  was  always  afraid  of  spider's ;  so,  to  avoid  touching 
him  with  my  hand,  I  caught  my  handkerchief  from  my 
pocket,  and  clapped  it  at  once  upon  the  miscreant,  who  was 
already  mounting  over-her  temple  with  rapid  strides.  Gra- 
cious Heaven  !  I  had  forgotten  the  cauliflower  ;  which  was 
now  plastered  over  her  face,  like  an  emollient  poultice,  fairly 
killing  the  spider,  and  blinding  an  eye  of  the  lady  ;  while 
little  streamlets  of  soft  butter,  glided  gently  down  her  beauti- 
ful neck  and  bosom. 

10*      * 


114  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

9.  "  Mon  Dieu !  Mon  Dieu ! "  exclaimed  the  astonished 
fair.  "  Mon  Dieu  !  "  was  echoed  from  every  mouth,  "  Have 
you  cut  your  head?"  inquired  one.  "No!  No!  —  The 
spider !  the  spider  !  The  gentleman  has  killed  a  spider !  " 
"  What  a  quantity  of  bowels  !  "  ejaculated  an  astonished 
Frenchman,  unconsciously  to  himself. 

10.  Well  might  he  be  astonished.  The  spray  of  the  ex- 
ecrable vegetable,  had  spattered  her  dress  from  head  to  foot. 
For  myself,  the  moment  the  accident  occurred,  I  had  me- 
chanically returned  my  handkerchief  to  my  pocket ;  but  its 
contents  remained. 

11.  ''  What  a  monster  it  must  have  been!"  observed  a 
young  lady,  as  she  helped  to  relieve  my  victim  from  her 
cruel  situation.  *'  I  declare  I  should  think  he  had  been  liv- 
ing on  cauliflower ! "  At  that  moment,  I  felt  some  one 
touch  me;  and, turning,  I  saw  my  companion  who  had  come 
with  me. 

12.  "  Look  at  your  pantaloons,"  he  whispered.  Already 
half  dead  at  the  disaster  I  had  caused,  I  cast  my  eyes  upon 
my  once  white  dress,  and  saw  at  a  glance  the  horrible  extent 
of  my  dilemma.  I  had  been  sitting  upon  the  fated  pocket, 
and  had  crushed  out  the  liquid  butter,  and  the  soft,  paste- 
like vegetable,  which  had  daubed  and  dripped  down  them, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  actually  dissolving  in  my  panta- 
loons. 

13.  Darting  from  the  spot,  I  sprang  to  the  place  where  I 
had  left  my  hat ;  but,  before  I  could  reach  it,  a  sudden  storm 
of  wrath  was  heard  at  the  door. 

14.  "  Sacr-r-r-r-e  !  bete!  Sacr-r-r~c!  Sacr-r-r-r-r-e  !  "  the 
r  in  the  last  syllable  being  made  to  roll  like  a  watchman's 
rattle,  mingled  with  another  epithet  and  name,  that  an  angry 
Frenchman  never  spares,  was  heard  rising  like  a  fierce  tem- 
pest without  the  door.  Suddenly  there  was  a  pause,  —  a 
gurgling  sound  as  of  ofie  swallowing  involuntarily,  —  and 
the  storm  of  wrath  again  broke  out  with  redoubled  fury.  I 
seized  a  hat,  and  opened  the  door,  and  the  whole  matter 
was  at  once  explained.  By  mistake  a  Frenchman  had  taken 
my  hat,  and  there  he  was,  the  soft  cauliflower  gushing  down 
his  cheeks,  blinding  his  eyes,  filling  his  mouth,  hair,  mus- 
tachios,  ears,  and  whiskers.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  spec- 
tacle. There  he  stood  astride  like  the  Colossus,  and  stoop- 
ing gently  forward,  his  eyes  forcibly  closed,  his  arms  held 


THE    ZENAIDA    DOVE.  115 

drooping  out  from   his  body,  and  dripping  cauliflower  and 
butter  at  every  pore  ! 

15.  1  stayed  no  longer  ;  but,  retaining  his  hat,  I  rushed 
from  the  house,  jumped  into  a  hack,  and  arrived  safely  at 
home-;  heartily  resolving,  that,  to  my  last  hour,  I  would 
never  asrain  deliver  a  letter  of  introduction. 


LESSON  L.      The  Zenaida  Dove. 

1.  Mr.  Audubon,  in  his  valuable  work  on  American 
Ornithology,  relates  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  the  deep  im- 
pressions liable  to  be  made  on  the  mind  from  hearing  the 
cooing  of  the  Zenaida  Dove,  a  pigeon  which  frequents  the 
small  islands  in  the  Gulf  of  Florida.  *'  The  cooing  of  the 
Zenaida  Dove,"  says  lije,  *'  is  so  peculiar,  that  one  who  hears 
it  for  the  first  time  naturally  stops  to  ask,  '  What  bird  is 
that?' 

2.  *' A  man,  who  was  once  a  pirate,  assured  me,  that  sev- 
eral times,  while  at  certain  wells,  dug  in  the  burning,  shelly 
sands  of  a  well-known  island,  the  soft  and  melancholy  cry 
of  the  doves  awoke  in  his  breast  feelings  which  had  long 
slumbered,  melted  his  heart  to  repentance,  and  caused  him 
to  linger  at  the  spot  in  a  state  of  mind,  which  he  only,  who 
compares  the  wretchedness  of  guilt  within  him  with  the 
happiness  of  former  innocence,  can  truly  feel.  He  said  he 
never  left  the  place  without  increased  fears  of  futurity,  as- 
sociated as  he  was,  although  I  believe  by  force,  with  a  band 
of  the  most  desperate  villains  that  ever  annoyed  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  Florida  coast. 

3.  "  So  deeply  moved  was  he  by  the  notes  of  any  bird, 
and  especially  those  of  a  dove,  the  only  soothing  sounds  he 
ever  heard  during  his  life  of  horrors,  that,  through  those 
plaintive  notes,  and  them  alone,  he  was  induced  to  escape 
from  his  vessel,  abandon  his  turbulent  companions,  and  re- 
turn to  a  family  deploring  his  absence. 

4.  "  After  paying  a  parting  visit  to  those  wells,  and  listen- 
ing once  more  to  the  cooings  of  the  Zenaida  dove,  he  poured 
out  his  soul  in  supplications  for  mercy,  and  once  more  be- 
came what  is  said  to  be,  '  the  noblest  work  of  God,'  an 
honest  man.     His  escape  was  effected   amidst  difficulties 


116  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

and  dangers ;  but  no  danger  seemed  to  him  to  be  compared 
with  the  danger  of  one  living  in  the  violation  of  human  and 
divine  laws ;  and  now  he  lives  in  peace,  in  the  midst  of  his 
friends." 


LESSON  LI.      The  Queen  and  the  Quakeress, 

1.  In  the  autumn  of  1818,  her  late  majesty,  dueen 
Charlotte  of  England,  visited  Bath,  accompanied  by  the 
Princess  Elizabeth.  The  waters  soon  effected  such  a  res- 
pite from  pain  in  the  royal  patient,  that  she  proposed  an 
excursion  to  a  park  of  some  celebrity  in  the  neighborhood, 
the  estate  of  a  rich  widow  belonging  to  the  Society  of 
Friends.  Notice  was  given  of  the  Q,ueen's  intention,  and  a 
message  returned  that  she  should  be  welcome. 

2.  The  illustrious  traveller  had  perhaps  never  before  had 
any  personal  intercourse  with  a  member  of  the  persuasion 
whose  votaries  never  voluntarily  paid  taxes  to  "the  man 
George,  called  King  by  the  vain  ones."  The  lady  and  gen- 
tleman who  were  to  attend  the  august  visitants  had  but 
feeble  ideas  of  the  reception  to  be  expected.  It  was  sup- 
posed that  the  Quaker  would  at  least  say  **  thi/  Majesty," 
or  "  thy  Highness,"  or,  at  least  "  Madam." 

3.  The  royal  carriage  arrived  at  the  lodge  of  the  park, 
punctual  at  the  appointed  hour.  No  preparations  appeared  to 
have  been  made  ;  no  hostess  nor  domestics  stood  ready  to 
greet  the  guests.  The  porter's  bell  was  rung ;  he  stepped 
forth  deliberately  with  his  broad-brimmed  beaver  on,  and 
unbendingly  accosted  the  lord  in  waiting  with,  "What's 
thy  will,  friend  ?  "  This  was  almost  unanswerable.  "  Sure- 
ly," said  the  nobleman,  *'  your  lady  is  aware  that  her  Maj- 
esty   Go  to  your  mistress,  and  say  the  dueen  is  here." 

"  No,  truly,"  answered  the  man,  "  it  needeth  not ;  I  have 
no  mistress  nor  lady  ;  but  Friend  Rachel  Mills  expecteth 
thine  ;  walk  in." 

4.  The  queen  and  princess  were  handed  out,  and  walked 
up  the  avenue.  At  the  door  of  the  house  stood  the  plainly 
attired  Rachel,  who,  without  even  a  curtsy,  but  with  a 
cheerful  nod,  said,  "How  's  thee  do,  friend?  I  am  glad  to 
see  thee  and  thy  daughter ;  I  wish  thee  well !     Rest  and  re- 


THE  QUEEN  AND  THE  QUAKERESS.   117 

fresh  thee  and  thy  people,  before  I  show  thee  my  grounds." 
What  could  be  said  to  such  a  person?  Some  condescensions 
were  attempted,  implying  that  her  Majesty  came  not  only  to 
view  the  park,  but  to  testify  her  esteem  for  the  Society  to 
which  Mistress  Mills  belonged. 

5.  Cool  and  unawed,  she  answered,  "  Yea,  thou  art  right 
there ;  the  Friends  are  well  thought  of  by  most  folks,  but 
they  need  not  the  praise  of  the  world ;  for  the  rest,  many 
strangers  gratify  their  curiosity  by  going  over  this  place,  and 
it  is  my  custom  to  conduct  them  myself;  therefore  I  shall 
do  the  like  to  thee,  friend  Charlotte ;  moreover,  I  think 
well  of  thee  as  a  dutiful  wife  and  mother.  Thou  hast  had 
thy  trials,  and  so  had  thy  good  partner.  I  wish  thy  grand- 
child well  through  hers."  It  was  so  evident  that  the  Friend 
meant  kindly,  nay,  respectfully,  that  offence  could  not  be 
taken. 

6.  She  escorted  her  guest  through  her  estate.  The 
Princess  Elizabeth  noticed  in  her  hen-house  a  breed  of 
poultry,  hitherto  unknown  to  her,  and  expressed  a  wish  to 
possess  some  of  those  rare  fowls,  imagining  that  Mrs.  Mills 
would  regard  her  wish  as  a  law ;  but  the  Quakeress  merely 
answered,  "They  are  rare,  as  thou  sayest ;  but  if  any 
are  to  be  purchased,  in  this  land  or  in  other  countries,  I 
know  few  women  likelier  than  thyself  to  procure  them  with 
ease." 

7.  Her  Royal  Highness  more  plainly  expressed  her  de- 
sire to  purchase  some  of  those  she  now  beheld.  "  I  do  not 
buy  and  sell,"  answered  Rachel  Mills.  *'  Perhaps  you  will 
give  me  a  pair,"  persevered  the  princess,  with  a  conciliating 
smile.  "  Nay,  verily,"  replied  Rachel,  "  I  have  refused 
many  friends  •  and  that  which  I  denied  to  my  own  kins- 
woman, Martha  Ash,  it  becometh  me  not  to  grant  to  any. 
We  have  long  had  it  to  say,  that  these  birds  belonged  only 
to  our  own  house,  and  I  can  make  no  exception  in  thy 
favor." 


118  THE  FOURTH  READER 


LESSON   LIT.     Adoration  of  the  Deity  in  the  Midst  of 
His  Works, 

1.  The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine, 
My  temple,  Lord  !   that  arch  of  thine  : 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers. 

2.  My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 
When  murmuring  homeward  to  their  caves, 
Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea. 

Even  more  than  music,  breathes  of  thee  ! 

3.  I  '11  seek,  by  day,  some  glade  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  throne  ! 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

4.  Thy  Heaven,  on  which  't  is  bliss  to  look, 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book, 
"Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

6.  I  '11  read  thy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  awhile  the  day-beam's  track ; 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness  breaking  through  ! 

6.  There  's  nothing  bright,  above,  below, 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow, 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 

Some  features  of  thy  Deity. 

7.  There  's  nothing  dark  below,  above, 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  love, 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment,  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again ! 


WHAT  ARE  EMBLEMS1  119 


LESSON   LlII       What  are  Emblems  ?    a  Familiar 
Dialogue, 

Cecilia.  Pray,  papa,  what  is  an  emblem  1  I  have  met  the 
vord  in  my  lesson  to-day,  and  I  do  not  quite  understand  it. 

Papa.  An  emblem,  my  dear,  is  a  visible  image  of  an  in- 
visible thing. 

C.  An  invisible  image  of,  —  1  can  hardly  comprehend. 

P.  Well,  I  will  explain  it  more  at  length.  There  are 
certain  notions  that  we  form  in  our  minds  without  the  help 
of  our  eyes  or  any  of  our  senses.  Thus,  virtue,  vice,  hon- 
or, disgrace,  time,  death,  and  the  like,  are  not  sensible  ob- 
jects, but  ideas  of  the  understanding. 

C.  Yes,  —  we  cannot  feel  them,  nor  see  them,  but  we 
can  think  about  them. 

P,  Now  it  sometimes  happens,  that  we  wish  to  represent 
one  of  these  in  a  visible  form,  —  that  is,  to  offer  something 
to  the  sight  that  shall  raise  a  similar  notion  in  the  minds  of 
the  beholders.  For  instance,  you  know  the  Court-house, 
where  trials  are  held.  It  would  be  easy  to  write  over  the 
door,  in  order  to  distii^guish  it,  "This  is  the  Court- 
house;" but  it  is  a  more  ingenious  and  elegant  way  of 
pointing  it  out,  to  place  upon  the  building  a  figure  repre- 
senting the  purpose  for  which  it  was  erected,  namely,  to 
distribute  justice.  For  this  end,  a  human  figure  is  made, 
distinguished  by  tokens  which  bear  a  relation  to  the  charac- 
ter of  that  virtue.  Justice  carefully  weighs  both  sides  of  a 
cause ;  she  is,  therefore,  represented  as  holding  a  pair  of 
scales.  It  is  her  office  to  punish  crimes ;  she  therefore 
holds  a  sword.  This  is  then  an  emblematical  figure,  and 
the  sword  and  scales  are  emblems. 

C  I  understand  this  very  well.  I  have  a  figure  of  Death 
in  my  fable-book.     1  suppose  that  is  emblematical. 

P.  Certainly,  or  you  would  not  know  it  meant  death 
How  is  it  represented  ? 

C.  He  is  nothing  but  bones,  and  he  holds  a  scythe  in 
one  hand,  and  an  hour-glass  in  the  other. 

P.  Well,  how  do  you  interpret  these  emblems? 

C  I  suppose  he  is  all  bones,  because  nothing  but  bones 
are  left,  after  a  dead  body  has  lain  long  in  the  grave. 

P,  What  does  the  scythe  represent  ? 


120  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

C.  Is  it  not  because  Death  mows  down  everything  ? 

P.  Yes.  No  instrument  could  so  properly  represent  the 
wide-wasting  sway  of  death,  which  sweeps  down  the  race 
of  animals,  like  flowers  falling  under  the  hands  of  the 
mower.     It  is  a  simile  used  in  the  Scriptures. 

C.  The  hour-glass  is  to  show  people,  I  suppose,  that 
their  time  is  come. 

P.  Right.  In  the  hour-glass  that  Death  holds,  all  the 
sand  has  run  from  the  upper  to  the  lower  part.  Have  you 
ever  observed  upon  a  monument,  an  old  figure  with  wings, 
and  a  scythe,  and  with  his  head  bald,  all  but  a  single  lock 
before  1 

C.  O  yes,  and  I  have  been  told  it  is  Time. 

P.  Well,  and  what  do  you  make  of  it?     Why  is  he  old? 

C.  O  !  because  he  has  lasted  a  long  time. 

P.  And  why  has  he  wings  ? 

C.  Because  time  is  swift,  and  flies  away. 

P.  What  is  his  single  lock  of  hair  for  ? 

C.  I  have  been  thinking,  and  cannot  make  it  out. 

P.  I  thought  that  would  puzzle  you.  It  relates  to  time, 
as  giving  opportunity  for  doing  anything.  It  is  to  be  seized 
as  it  presents  itself,  or  it  will  escape,  and  cannot  be  recov- 
ered. Thus,  the  proverb  says,  "  Take  Time  by  the  fore- 
lock." I  have  here  got  a  few  emblematical  pictures.  Let 
us  see  if  you  can  find  out  their  meaning.  Here  is  an  old, 
half-ruined  building,  supported  by  props ;  and  the  figure  of 
Time  is  sawing  through  one  of  the  props. 

C.  That  must  be  Old  Age,  surely. 

P.  Yes.  Here  is  a  man  standing  on  the  summit  of  a 
steep  cliff*,  and  going  to  ascend  a  ladder,  which  he  has 
placed  against  a  cloud. 

C.  Let  me  see,  —  that  must  be  Ambition,  I  think.  He 
is  very  high,  already,  but  he  wants  to  be  higher  still, 
though  his  ladder  is  only  supported  by  a  cloud. 

P.  Very  right.  Here  is  a  walking-stick,  the  lower  part 
of  which  is  set  in  the  water,  and  it  appears  crooked.  What 
does  that  denote  ? 

C.  Is  the  stick  really  crooked  ? 

P.  No,  but  it  is  the  property  of  the  water  to  give  it  that 
appearance. 

C.  Then  it  must  signify  Deception. 

P.  It  is.     I  dare  say,  you  will  at  once  know  this  fellow, 


NAOMI  AND  RUTlt.  121 

tvho  is  running  as  fast  as  his  legs  will  carry  him,  and  look- 
ing back  at  his  shadow. 

C.  He  must  be  Fear  or  Terror^  I  fancy. 

P.  Yes,  you  may  call  him  which  you  please.  What  do 
Vou  think  of  this  candle  held  before  a  mirror,  in  which  its 
'igure  is  exactly  reflected  ? 

C.  I  do  not  know  what  it  means. 

P.  It  represents  Truth.  The  object  is  a  luminous  one, 
to  show  the  clearness  and  brightness  of  truth.  You  see 
here  a  woman  disentangling  and  reeling  off  a  very  perplexed 
skein  of  thread. 

C.  She  must  havaa  great  deal  of  patience. 

P.  True,  she  is  Patience  herself  What  do  you  think  of 
this  pleasing  female,  who  looks  with  such  kindness  upon  the 
drooping  plants  she  is  watering  ? 

C  That  must  be  Charity,  I  believe. 

P.  Here  is  a  lady  sitting  demurely  with  one  finger  on  her 
lip,  while  she  holds  a  bridle  in  her  other  hand. 

C.  The  finger  on  her  lip,  I  suppose,  denotes  Silence.  The 
bridle  must  mean  confinemeflt.  I  should  almost  fancy  her 
to  be  a  schoolmistress. 

P.  Ha !  ha !  I  hope  indeed,  many  schoolmistresses  are 
endued  with  her  spirit,  for  she  is  Prudence,  or  Discretion. 
Well,  we  have  now  got  to  the  end  of  our  pictures,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  you  have  interpreted  them  very  well. 


LESSON   LIV.     Naomi  and  Ruth.     Ruth,  chap.  i. 

1.  Now  it  came  to  pass,  in  the  days  when  the  judges 
ruled,  that  there  was  a  famine  in  the  land.  And  a  certain 
man  of  Bethlehem-judah  went  to  sojourn  in  the  country  of 
Moab,  he,  and  his  wife,  and  his  two  sons. 

2.  And  the  name  of  the  man  was  Elimelech,  and  the 
name  of  his  wife  Naomi,  and  the  name  of  his  two  sons 
Mahlon  and  Chilion,  Ephrathites  of  Bethlehem-judah.  And 
they  came  into  the  country  of  Moab,  and  continued  there. 

3.  And  Elimelech,  Naomi's  husband,  died ;  and  she  was 
left,  and  her  two  sons. 

4.  And  they  took  them  wives  of  the  women  of  Moab ; 

11 


122  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

the  name  of  the  one  was  Orpah,  and  the  name  of  the  other 
Ruth ;  and  they  dwelled  there  about  ten  years. 

5.  And  Mahlon  and  Chilion  died  also  both  of  them ;  and 
the  woman  was  left  of  her  two  sons  and  her  husband, 

6.  Then  she  arose,  with  her  daughters-in-law,  that  she 
might  return  from  the  country  of  Moab  ;  for  she  had  heard 
in  the  country  of  Moab,  how  that  the  Lord  had  visited  his 
people,  in  giving  them  bread. 

7.  Wherefore  she  went  forth  out  of  the  place  where  she 
was,  and  her  two  daughters-in-law  with  her ;  and  they  went 
on  the  way  to  return  unto  the  land  of  Judah. 

8.  And  Naomi  said  unto  her  two  dau|^ters-in-law,  Go,  re- 
turn each  to  her  mother's  house ;  the  Lord  deal  kindly  with 
you,  as  ye  have  dealt  with  the  dead,  and  with  me. 

9.  The  Lord  grant  you  that  ye  may  find  rest,  each  of  you 
in  the  house  of  her  husband.  Then  she  kissed  them  ;  and 
they  lifted  up  their  voice  and  wept. 

10.  And  they  said  unto  her,  Surely  we  will  return  with 
thee  unto  thy  people. 

IL  And  Naomi  said.  Turn  again,  my  daughters,  why  will 
ye  go  with  me  ?  It  grieveth  me  much,  for  your  sakes,  that 
the  hand  of  the  Lord  is  gone  out  against  me. 

12.  And  they  lifted  up  their  voice,  and  wept  again ;  and 
Orpah  kissed  her  mother-in-law,  but  Ruth  clave  unto  her. 

13.  And  she  said.  Behold,  thy  sister-in-law  is  gone  back 
unto  her  people,  and  unto  her  gods ;  return  thou  after  thy 
sister-in-law. 

14.  And  Ruth  said,  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to 
return  from  following  after  thee ;  for  whither  thou  goest,  I 
will  go  ;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge  ;  thy  people 
shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God  ; 

15.  Where  thou  diest  will  I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried. 
The  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death  part 
thee  and  me. 

16.  When  she  saw  that  she  was  steadfastly  minded  to  go 
with  her,  then  she  left  speaking  unto  her. 

17.  So  they  two  went  until  they  came  to  Bethlehem.  And 
it  came  to  pass,  when  they  were  come  to  Bethlehem,  that  all 
the  city  was  moved  about  them;  and  they  said,  Is  this 
Naomi  ? 

18.  And  she  said  unto  them,  Call  me  not  Naomi,  call  me 
Mara ;  for  the  Almighty  hath  dealt  very  bitterly  with  me. 


WEALTH    AND    FASHION.  123 

19.  I  went  out  full,  and  the  Lord  hath  brought  me  home 
again  empty ;  why  then  call  ye  me  Naomi,  seeing  the  Lord 
hath  testified  against  me,  and  the  Almighty  hath  afflicted  me? 

20.  So  Naomi  returned,  and  Ruth  the  Moabitess,  her 
daughter-in-law,  with  her,  which  returned  out  of  the  country 
of  Moab;  and  they  came  to  Bethlehem  in  the  beginning  of 
barley-harvest. 


LESSON  LV.     Wealth  and  Fashion. 

Thk  following  dialogue  took  place  between  a  brother  and  sister,  both  un- 
usually endowed  with  talent.  Horace  had  "just  received  his  license  as 
attorney  at  law  ;  Caroline  had  entered  her  eighteenth  year,  and  was  a  belle 
in  her  own  circle. 

Caroline.  What  a  pity  it  is,  Horace,  that  we  are  born  un- 
der a  republican  government. 

Horace.  Upon  my  word,  that  is  a  patriotic  observation 
for  an  American. 

C.  O,  I  know  that  it  is  not  a  popular  one ;  we  must  all 
join  in  the  cry  of  liberty  and  equality,  and  bless  our  stars 
that  we  have  neither  kings  nor  emperors  to  rule  over  us.  If 
we  don't  join  in  the  shout,  and  hang  our  hats  on  hickory 
trees,  or  liberty  poles,  we  are  considered  unnatural  mon- 
sters. For  my  part,  I  am  tired  of  it,  and  I  am  determined  to 
say  what  I  think.  I  hate  republicanism;  I  hate  liberty  and 
equality ;  and  I  don't  hesitate  to  declare,  that  I  am  for  mon- 
archy.    You  may  laugh,  but  I  would  say  it  at  the  stake. 

//.  Bravo!  why  you  have  almost  run  yourself  out  of 
breath,  Cara ;  you  deserve  to  be  prime  minister  to  the  king. 

C.  You  mistake  me,  Horace.  I  have  no  wish  to  mingle 
in  political  broils,  not  even  if  I  could  be  as  renowned  as 
Pitt  or  Fox ;  but  I  must  say,  I  think  our  equality  is  odious. 
What  do  you  think?  to-day  the  new  chambermaid  put  her 
head  into  the  door,  and  said,  "  Caroline,  your  marm  wants 
you." 

//.  (Clapping  his  hands.)  Excellent !  I  suppose  if  ours 
were  a  monarchical  government,  she  would  have  bent  one 
knee  to  the  ground,  and  saluted  your  little  foot,  before  she 
epoke. 

C.  No,  Horace,  you  know  there  are  no  such  forms  as 


124  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

those,  except  in  the  papal  dominions.    I  believe  his  Holiness 
the  Pope   requires  such  a  ceremony. 

H.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  be  a  Pope, 

C.  No ;  I  am  no  Roman  Catholic. 

H,  May  1  ask  your  Highness,  what  you  would  like  to  be  ? 

C  (Glancing  at  the  glass.)  I  should  like  to  be  a  countess. 

H.  You  are  moderate  in  your  ambition.  A  countess, 
now-a-days,  is  the  fag  end  of  nobility. 

C.  O !  but  it  sounds  so  delightfully.  —  The  young  Count- 
ess Caroline ! 

H.  If  sound  is  all,  you  shall  have  that  pleasure;  we  will 
call  you  the  young  Countess  Caroline ! 

C.  That  would  be  mere  burlesque,  Horace,  and  would 
make  me  ridiculous. 

H.  True ;  nothing  can  be  more  inconsistent  than  for  us 
to  aim  at  titles. 

C.  For  us,  I  grant  you  ;  but  if  they  were  hereditary,  if 
we  had  been  born  to  them,  if  they  came  to  us  through  belt- 
ed knights  and  high-born  dames,  then  we  might  be  proud  to 
wear  them.  I  never  shall  cease  to  regret,  that  I  was  not 
born  under  a  monarchy. 

H,  You  seem  to  forget  that  all  are  not  lords  and  ladies  in 
the  royal  dominions.  Suppose  you  should  have  drawn  your 
first  breath  among  plebeians ;  suppose  it  should  have  been 
your  lot  to  crouch  and  bend,  or  be  trodden  under  foot  by 
some  titled  personage,  whom  in  your  heart  you  despised; 
what  then  1 

C.  You  may  easily  suppose,  that  I  did  not  mean  to  take 
those  chances.  No,  I  meant  to  be  born  among  the  higher 
ranks. 

H.  Your  own  reason  must  tell  you,  that  all  cannot  be  born 
among  the  higher  ranks,  for  then  the  lower  ones  would  be 
wanting,  which  constitute  the  comparison.  Now  Caroline, 
we  come  to  the  very  point.  Is  it  not  better  to  be  born  under 
a  government  in  which  there  is  neither  extreme  of  high  or 
low ;  where  one  man  cannot  be  raised  preeminently  over 
another ;  and  where  our  nobility  consists  of  talent  and  vir- 
tue. 

C.  This  sounds  very  patriotic,  brother,  but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  wealth  constitutes  our  nobility,  and  the  right 
of  abusing  each  other  our  liberty. 

H.  You  are  as  fond  of  aphorisms  as  ever  Lavater  was^ 
but  they  are  not  always  true. 


GOFFE    THE  REGICIDE.  125 

C  I  will  just  ask  you,  if  our  rich  men,  who  ride  in  their 
own  carriages,  who  have  fine  houses,  and  who  count  by 
millions,  are  not  our  great  men  ? 

H.  They  have  all  the  greatness  money  can  buy ;  but  this 
is  a  very  limited  one. 

C.  In  my  opinion,  money  is  power. 

H.  You  mistake,  Caroline ;  money  may  buy  a  temporary 
power,  but  talent  is  power  itself:  and,  when  united  to  vir- 
tue, a  Godlike  power,  one  before  which  the  mere  man  of 
millions  quails.  No  ;  give  me  talent,  health,  and  unwavering 
prhiciple,  and  I  will  not  ask  for  wealth,  but  I  will  carve  my 
own  way ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  wealth  will  be  honorably 
mine. 

C.  Well,  Horace,  I  heartily  wish  you  the  possession  of  all 
together,  talent,  principle,  and  wealth.  Really,  without 
flattery,  the  two  first  you  have  ;  and  the  last,  according  to 
your  own  idea,  will  come  when  you  beckon  to  it.  Now  I 
can  tell  you,  that  I  feel  as  determined  as  you  do,  to  "  carve 
my  own  way."  I  see  you  smile,  but  I  have  always  believed 
we  could  accomplish  what  we  steadily  will.  Depend  upon 
it,  the  time  is  not  distant,  when  you  shall  see  me  in  posses- 
sion of  all  the  rank  that  any  one  can  obtain  in  our  plebeian 
country. 

The  brother  and  sister  pursued  the  paths  they  had  sev- 
erally marked  out ;  the  former  succeeded  to  the  full  extent  of 
his  wishes,  and  became  a  prosperous  man ;  the  latter  prose- 
T  cuted  her  schemes  of  ambition,  but  they  only  resulted  in 
1  disappointment  and  mortification. 


LESSON    LVI.     Goffe  the  Regicide. 

Charles  I.  of  England  was  beheaded  according  to  the  sentence  of  a 
court  styled  the  Higli  Court  of  Justice,  in  1648.  His  son,  Charles  II.  com-" 
ing  to  the  throne  in  1660,  the  judges  who  had  passed  sentence  upon  his 
father,  and  were  called  regicides,  fled  the  country.  William  GofFe,  noticed 
in  tlie  following  sketch,  was  one  of  these,  and  arrived  at  Boston  in  June,  1660. 

1.  In  the  course  of  Philip's  war,  of  1675,  which  involved 
almost  all  the  Indian  tribes  in  New  England,  and  among 
others  those  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hadley,  the  inhabitants 
thought  it  proper  to  observe  the  first  of  September,  1675, 


126  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

as  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer.  While  they  were  in  the 
church,  and  employed  in  their  worship,  they  were  surprised 
by  a  band  of  savages. 

2.  The  people  instantly  betook  themselves  to  their  arms, 
which,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  times,  they  had  car- 
ried with  them  to  the  church ;  and,  rushing  out  of  the 
house,  attacked  their  invaders.  The  panic  under  which 
they  began  the  conflict,  was,  however,  so  great,  and  their 
number  was  so  disproportioned  to  that  of  their  enemies,  that 
they  fought  doubtfully  at  first,  and  in  a  short  time  began  ev- 
idently to  give  way.  At  this  moment  an  ancient  man,  with 
hoary  locks,  of  a  most  venerable  and  dignified  aspect,  and 
in  a  dress  widely  differing  from  that  of  the  inhabitants,  ap- 
peared suddenly  at  their  head,  and  with  a  firm  voice,  and 
an  example  of  undaunted  resolution,  reanimated  their  spir- 
its, led  them  again  to  the  conflict,  and  totally  routed  the 
savages. 

3.  When  the  battle  was  ended,  the  stranger  disappeared; 
and  no  person  knew  whence  he  had  come,  or  whither  he 
had  gone.  The  relief  was  so  timely,  so  sudden,  so  unex- 
pected, and  so  providential ;  the  appearance  and  the  retreat 
of  him  who  furnished  it  were  so  unaccountable  ;  his  person 
was  so  dignified  and  commanding,  his  resolution  so  superi- 
or, and  his  interference  so  decisive,  that  the  inhabitants,  with- 
out any  uncommon  exercise  of  credulity,  readily  believed 
him  to  be  an  angel,  sent  by  Heaven  for  their  preservation. 

4.  Nor  was  this  opinion  seriously  controverted,  until  it 
was  discovered,  several  years  afterwards,  that  Goffe  and 
Whalley  had  been  lodged  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Russell.  Then 
it  was  known,  that  their  deliverer  was  Goffe,— Whalley  hav- 
ing become  superannuated  some  time  before  the  event  took 
place. 


LESSON    LVII.     Melrose  Ahhe^j. 

This  is  a  fine  old  ruin  of  an  ancient  Abbey  in  Scotland. 

If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright. 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight  ; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 
Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 


THE  SET  OF  DIAMONDS.  127 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white ; 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruined  central  tower  ; 

When  buttress  and  buttress  alternately 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die ; 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave, 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

Then  go,  —  but  go  alone  the  while,  — 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruined  pile ; 

And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair  1 


LESSON    LVIII.     The  Set  of  Diamonds, 

1.  Mr.  E ,  a  physician  of  Paris,  well  known  for  his 

skill  in  curing  mental  disorders,  saw  arrive  at  his  gate,  one 
morning,  a  lady  who  seemed  forty  years  old,  although  still 
young  and  fresh.  She  was  admitted  within  the  gate  of  the 
celebrated  physician,  and  introduced  herself  as  the  Countess 

M .     She  then  spoke   as  a  mother  in  desolation  and 

despair,  in  the  following  terms : 

2.  "  Sir,  you  see  a  woman  a  prey  to  the  most  violent 
chagrin.  I  have  a  son  ;  he  is  very  dear  to  me  as  well  as  to 
my  husband ;  he  is  our  only  son."  Tears  here  like  rain 
fell,  such  as  Artemisia  shed  over  the  tomb  of  Mausolus. 

3.  **  Ah,  yes!  —  Y — es,  Sir  !  "  said  she,  ''  and  for  some 
time  we  have  suffered  the  most  horrible  fears.  He  is  now 
at  the  age  when  the  passions  develope  themselves.  Although 
we  gratify  all  his  wishes,  money,  liberty,  &c.,  he  evinces 
many  signs  of  dementation.  The  most  remarkable  is,  that 
he  is  always  talking  about  jewelry,  or  of  diamonds  which  he 
has  sold  or  given  to  some  woman,  all  unintelligible.  The 
father  and  I  are  lost  in  sounding  the  cause  of  this  folly." 

4.  "Well,  Madam,  bring  your  son  here." 

**  Ah,  to-morrow.  Sir,  —  by  all  means,  at  noon?  " 
*'  That  will  do." 


128  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

The  doctor  respectfully  conducted  the  lady  to  her  car- 
riage, not  forgetting  to  scan  the  coat  of  arms  and  the  lackeys. 

5.  The  next  morning  the  Countess  drove  to  a  famous 
jeweller,  and  after  having  a  long  time  cheapened  a  set  worth 
thirty  thousand  crowns,  she  finally  purchased  it.  She  neg- 
ligently drew  a  purse  from  her  reticule,  found  there  ten 
thousand  francs  in  bank  notes,  and  spread  them  out ;  but 
immediately  gathering  them  up,  she  said  to  the  jeweller, 
*'  You  had  better  send  a  person  with  me.  My  husband  will 
pay  him.     I  find  I  have  not  the  entire  sum." 

6.  The  jeweller  made  a  sign  to  a  young  man,  who  proud- 
ly delighted  to  go  in  such  an  equipage,  started  off  with 
the  Countess.  She  drove  to  the  doctor's  door.  She  whis- 
pered to  the  doctor,  "  This  is  my  son,  I  leave  him  with  you." 
To  the  young  man  she  said,  **  My  husband  is  in  the  study,  — 
walk  in  ;  he  will  pay  you." 

The  young  man  went  in.  The  Countess  and  the  carriage 
went  off  at  first  slow,  and  noiseless ;  soon  after  the  horses 
galloped. 

7.  "  Ah,  well,  young  man,"  said  the  physician,  "  you  un- 
derstand the  business,  I  suppose.  —  Let  us  see ;  how  do 
you  feel  ?  what  is  going  on  in  this  young  head  ?  " 

"  What  passes  in  my  head,  Sir?  Nothing, except  settling 
for  the  set  of  diamonds." 

8.  "We  understand  all  that,"  said  the  doctor,  gently 
pushing  aside  the  bill.     "  I  know,  I  know." 

*'  If  the  gentleman  knows  the  amount,  no  more  remains 
but  to  pay  the  cash." 

"Indeed!  indeed!  Be  calm,  where  did  you  get  your 
diamonds?  what  has  become  of  them  ? — ^Say  as  much  as 
you  will ;  I  will  listen  patiently." 

9.  '•'  The  business  is,  to  pay  me,  Sir,  thirty  thousand 
crowns." 

''Wherefore?" 

"  How,  wherefore  ? "  said  the  young  man,  whose  eyes  be- 
gan to  glisten. 

"  Yes,  why  should  I  pay  you  ?  " 

*'  Because  Madame,  the  Countess,  has  just  purchased 
the  diamonds  at  our  house." 

10.  **  Good  !  here  we  have  you.    Who  is  the  Countess?  " 
"  Your  wife  ;  "  and  he  presented  a  bill. 

"But  do  you  know,  young  man,  that  I  have  the  honor  to 
be  a  physician,  and  a  widower  ?  " 


FIGHT  WITH   A    SHARK.  129 

11.  Here  the  young  man  became  transported,  and  the 
doctor  called  his  domestics,  and  bade  them  seize  him  by  the 
hands  and  feet,  which  raised  his  transport  to  fury.  He  cried 
"  Thief!  murder !  "  but  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
he  calmed  down,  explained  every  thing  soberly,  and  a  terri- 
ble light  began  to  dawn  upon  the  doctor.  He  was  not  long 
in  discovering  that  the  Countess  was  a  cheat,  and  had 
devised  the  whole  scheme  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the 
jewels. 

12.  Notwithstanding  all  the  search  that  could  be  made, 
this  singular  theft,  so  ingenious,  so  original,  from  the  scene 
which  took  place  between  the  physician  and  the  young  man, 
was  never  discovered.  The  pretended  Countess  had  taken 
care  to  conceal  every  trace  of  herself.  The  drivers  and 
lackeys  were  her  accomplices;  the  carriage  was  hired: 
and  this  history  remains  a  monument  in  the  memoirs  of 
jewellers. 


LESSON   LIX.     Fight  with  a  Shark. 

1.  The  following  curious  description  of  a  conflict  with  a 
shark  in  the  vicinity  of  Calcutta,  in  India,  is  related  by  an 
eyewitness,  and  is  entitled  to  perfect  credence. 

2.  "  I  chanced  to  be  on  the  spot  when  this  display  of 
coolness  and  courage  took  place  ;  and,  had  I  not  witnessed 
it,  I  confess  I  should  have  been  skeptical  in  believing  what, 
nevertheless,  is  plain  matter  of  fact.  I  was  walking  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  at  the  time  when  some  up-country  boats 
were  delivering  their  cargoes. 

3«  "  A  considerable  number  of  Coolies  were  employed  on 
shore  in  the  work,  all  of  whom  I  observed  running  away  in 
apparent  trepidation  from  the  edge  of  the  water,  —  returning 
again,  as  if  eager  yet  afraid,  to  approach  some  object,  and 
again  retreating  as  before.  I  hastened  to  the  spot  to  ascer- 
tain the  matter,  when  I  perceived  a  huge  monster  of  a  shark 
sailing  along,  now  near  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  now 
sinking  down,  apparently  in  pursuit  of  his  prey. 

4.  "  At  this  moment,  a  native,  on  the  Choppah  roof  of 
one  of  the  boats,  with  a  rope  in  his  hand,  which  he  was 
filowly  coiling  up,  surveyed  the  shark's  motions  with  a  look 


]30  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

that  evidently  indicated  that  he  had  a  serious  intention  of 
encountering  him  in  his  own  element.  Holding  the  rope, 
on  which  he  made  a  sort  of  running  knot,  in  one  hand,  and 
stretching  out  the  other  arm,  as  if  already  in  the  act  of 
swimming,  he  stood  in  an  attitude  truly  picturesque,  waiting 
the  reappearance  of  the  shark.  At  about  six  or  eight  yards 
from  the  boat,  the  animal  rose  near  the  surface,  when  the 
native  instantly  plunged  in  the  water,  a  short  distance  from 
the  very  jaws  of  the  monster. 

5.  "  The  shark  immediately  turned  round  and  swam 
slowly  towards  the  man,  who,  in  his  turn,  nothing  daunted, 
struck  out  the  arm  that  was  at  liberty,  and  approached  his 
foe.  When  within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  shark,  the  native 
dived  beneath  him,  the  animal  going  down  almost  at  the 
same  instant.  The  bold  assailant  in  this  most  frightful  con- 
test soon  re-appeared  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  shark, 
swimming  fearlessly  with  the  hand  he  had  at  liberty,  and 
holding  the  rope  behind  his  back  with  the  other. 

6.  **  The  shark,  which  had  also  by  this  time  made  his  ap- 
pearance, again  immediately  swam  towards  him  ;  and  while 
the  animal  was  apparently  in  the  act  of  lifting  himself  over 
the  lower  part  of  the  native's  body,  that  he  might  seize  upon 
his  prey,  the  man,  making  a  strong  effort,  threw  himself  up 
perpendicularly,  and  went  down  with  his  feet  foremost,  the 
shark  following  him  so  simultaneously,  that  I  was  fully  im- 
pressed with  the  idea,  that  they  had  gone  down  grappling 
together. 

7.  "  As  far  as  I  could  judge,  they  remained  nearly  twenty 
seconds  out  of  sight,  while  I  stood  in  breathless  anxiety,  and, 
I  may  add,  horror,  waiting  the  result  of  this  fearful  encoun- 
ter. Suddenly  the  native  made  his  appearance,  holding  up 
both  hands  over  his  head,  and  calling  out,  with  a  voice  that 
proclaimed  the  victory  he  had  won  while  underneath  the 
wave,  "Tan, — tan!"  The  people  in  the  boat  were  all 
prepared ;  the  rope  was  instantly  drawn  tight,  and  the  strug- 
gling victim  lashing  the  water  in  his  wrath,  was  dragged  to 
the  shore,  and  despatched. 

8.  "When  measured,  his  length  was  found  to  be  six  feet 
nine  inches  ;  his  girth,  at  the  greatest,  three  feet  seven 
inches.  The  native  who  achieved  this  intrepid  and  dexter- 
ous exploit,  bore  no  other  marks  of  his  finny  enemy  than  a 
cut  on  the  left  arm,  evidently  received  from  coming  in  con- 


VIRGINIUS    AND   HIS    DAUGHTER.  13I 

tact  with  the  tail,  or  some  one  of  the  fins,  of  the  animal.  It 
did  not  occur  to  me  to  ask  if  this  was  the  first  shark  fight 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged ;  but,  from  the  preparations 
and  ready  assistance  he  received  from  his  companions  in 
the  boats,  I  should  suppose  that  he  has  more  than  once  dis- 
played the  same  courage  and  dexterity  which  so  much  as- 
tonished me.  The  scene  was  altogether  one  I  shall  never 
forget." 


LESSON   LX.      Virginius  and  his  Daughter  Virginia. 

This  is  taken  from  a  tragedy,  the  plot  of  which  is  laid  in  ancient  Rome. 
Virginias  is  a  Roman  patriot,  and  has  become  offended  with  Icilius,  for  par- 
ticipating in  a  public  act,  unfriendly  to  the  liberties  of  the  people.  At 
the  same  time  he  suspects  that  his  daughter  loves  Icilius.  His  design  is,  to 
learn  the  truth;  which  is  unwittingly  betrayed  by  Virginia  to  her  father. 

Virginia.  Well,  Father  ;  what 's  your  will  1 

Virginius.  I  wished  to  see  you, 
To  ask  you  of  your  tasks,  —  how  go  they  on,  -— 
And  what  your  masters  say  of  you,  —  what  last 
You  did.     I  hope  you  never  play 
The  truant  ? 

Virg.  The  truant!  No,  indeed,  Virginius. 

V.  I  am  sure  you  do  not,  —  kiss  me !  _ 

Virg.  O  !  my  father, 
I  am  so  happy,  when  you  're  kind  to  me ! 

V.  You  are  so  happy  when  I'm  kind  to  you ' 
Am  I  not  always  kind  ?  I  never  spoke 
An  angry  word  to  you  in  all  my  life, 
Virginia  !  You  are  happy  when  I  'm  kind  ! 
That's  strange ;  and  makes  me  think  you  have  some  reason 
To  fear  I  may  be  otherwise  than  kind. 
Is 't  so,  my  girl  1 

Virg.  Indeed  '  I  did  not  know 
What  I  was  saying  to  you  ! 

V.  Why  !  that 's  worse 
And  worse !     What !  when  you  said  your  father's  kindness 
Made  you  so  happy,  am  I  to  believe 
You  were  not  thinking  of  him  ? 

Virg.  I  


132  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

V,  Go  fetch  me 
The  latest  task  you  did.     {SJie  goes.) 

lb  enough. 
Her  artless  speech,  like  crystal,  shows  the  thing 
'T  would  hide,  but  only  covers.     'T  is  enough  ! 
She  loves,  and  fears  her  father  may  condemn. 

Virg.  {Reentering  with  a  painting.) 
Here,  Sir ! 

V.  What  's  this  ? 

Virg,  'T  is  Homer's  history 
Of  great  Achilles,  parting  from  Briseis. 

V.  You  have  done  it  well.     The  coloring  is  good. 
The  figure  's  well  designed.     'T  is  very  well !  — 
Whose  face  is  this  you  've  given  to  Achilles  ? 

Virg,  Whose  face  ? 

V.  I  've  seen  this  face  !     Tut !    Tut !    I  know  it 
As  well  as  I  do  my  own  ;  yet,  can't  bethink  me 
Whose  face  it  is  ! 

Virg.  You  mean  Achilles'  face ! 

V.  Did  I  not  say  so?     'T  is  the  very  face 

Of No  !  No  !  Not  of  him.     There  's  too  much  youth 

And  comeliness ;  and  too  much  fire,  to  suit 
The  face  of  Lucius  Dentatus. 

Virg.  O! 
You  surely  never  took  it  for  his  face  ! 

V.  Why,  no ;  for  now  I  look  again,  I  'd  swear 
You  lost  the  copy,  ere  you  drew  the  head ; 
And,  to  requite  Achilles  for  the  want 
Of  his  own  face,  contrived  to  borrow  one 
From  Lucius  Icilius. 
(Here  Dentatus  enters ,  and^  after  some  conversation,  he  and 

Virginius  retire.) 

Virg.  How  is  it  with  my  heart  1     I  feel  as  one 
That  has  lost  every  thing,  and  just  before 
Had  nothing  left;  to  wish  for !     He  will  cast 
Icilius  off!     I  never  told  it  yet ; 
But  take  from  me,  thou  gentle  air,  the  secret,  — 
And  ever  after  breathe  more  balmy  sweet,  — 
I  love  Icilius ! 


CAPTURE  OF    A   WHALE.  133 


LESSON  LXI.     Capture  of  a  Whale. 

1.  A  FEW  long  and  vigorous  strokes  run  the  boat  of  the 
whaleman  directly  up  to  the  broadside  of  the  whale,  with 
its  bows  pointing  towards  one  of  the  fins,  which  was  at 
times,  as  the  animal  yielded  sluggishly  to  the  action  of  the 
waves,  exposed  to  view.  The  cockswain  poised  his  harpoon 
with  much  precision,  and  then  darted  it  from  him  with  a 
violence  that  buried  the  iron  in  the  body  of  their  foe.  The 
instant  the  blow  was  made,  Long  Tom  shouted  with  singular 
earnestness,  '*  Starn  all !  " 

2.  "  Stern  all !  "  echoed  Barnstable;  when  the  obedient 
seamen,  by  united  efforts,  forced  the  boat  in  a  backward  di- 
rection, beyond  the  reach  of  any  blow  from  their  formidable 
antagonist.  The  alarmed  animal,  however,  meditated  no 
such  resistance  ;  ignorant  of  his  own  power,  and  of  the  in- 
significance of  his  enemies,  he  sought  refuge  in  flight.  One 
moment  of  stupid  surprise  succeeded  the  entrance  of  the 
iron,  when  he  cast  his  huge  tail  into  the  air  with  a  violence 
that  threw  the  sea  around  him  into  increased  commotion, 
and  then  disappeared  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  amid 
a  cloud  of  foam. 

3.  "  Snub  him !  "  shouted  Barnstable ;  "  hold  on,  Tom  ;  he 
rises  already."  "  Ay,  ay,  Sir,"  replied  the  composed  cock- 
swain, seizing  the  line  which  was  running  out  of  the  boat 
with  a  velocity  that  rendered  such  a  manoeuvre  rather  hazard- 
ous, and  causing  it  to  yield  more  gradually  round  the  logger- 
head, that  was  placed  in  the  bows  of  the  boat  for  that  purpose. 
Presently  the  line  stretched  forward,  and,  rising  to  the  sur- 
face with  tremulous  vibrations,  it  indicated  the  direction  in 
which  the  animal  might  be  expected  to  reappear. 

4.  Barnstable  had  cast  the  bows  of  the  boat  towards  that 
point,  before  the  terrified  and  wounded  victim  rose  once  more 
to  the  surface,  whose  time  was,  however,  no  longer  wasted  in 
his  sports,  but  who  cast  the  waters  aside  as  he  forced  his  way, 
with  prodigious  velocity,  along  their  surface.  The  boat  was 
dragged  violently  in  his  wake,  and  cut  through  the  billows 
with  a  terrific  rapidity,  that  at  moments  seemed  to  bury  the 
slight  fabric  in  the  ocean.  When  Long  Tom  beheld  his 
victim  throwing  his  spouts  on  high  again,  he  pointed  with 

12 


134  ^HE  FOURTH  READER. 

exultation  to  the  jetting  fluid,  which  was  streaked  with  the 
deep  red  of  blood,  and  cried  ; 

6.  '*  Ay,  I've  touched  the  fellow's  life!  It  must  be  more 
than  two  foot  of  blubber  that  stops  my  iron  from  reaching 
the  life  of  any  whale  that  ever  sculled  the  ocean  !  " 

"  I  believe  you  have  saved  yourself  the  trouble  of  using 
the  bayonet  you  have  rigged  for  a  lance,"  said  his  command 
er,  who  entered  into  the  sport  with  all  the  ardor  of  one, 
whose  youth  had  been  chiefly  passed  in  such  pursuits ;  "  feel 
your  line,  Master  Coflin  ;  can  we  haul  alongside  of  our  en- 
emy 1  1  like  not  the  course  he  is  steering,  as  he  tows  us 
from  the  schooner." 

6.  "  'T  is  the  creature's  way.  Sir,"  said  the  cockswain  ; 
"  you  know  they  need  the  air  in  their  nostrils  when  they 
run,  the  same  as  a  man  ;  but  lay  hold,  boys,  and  let  us  haul 
up  to  him." 

7.  The  seamen  now  seized  their  whale  line,  and  slowly 
drew  their  boat  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  tail  of  the  fish, 
whose  progress  became  sensibly  less  rapid,  as  he  grew  weak 
with  the  loss  of  blood.  In  a  few  minutes  he  stopped  run- 
ning, and  appeared  to  roll  uneasily  on  the  water,  as  if  suf- 
fering the  agony  of  death, 

**  Shall  we  pull  in  and  finish  him,  Tom  ?  "  cried  Barn- 
stable ;  "  a  few  sets  from  your  bayonet  would  do  it." 

The  cockswain  stood  examining  his  game  with  cool  dis- 
cretion, and  replied,  "  There  's  no  occasion  for  disgracing 
ourselves  by  using  a  soldier's  weapon  in  taking  a  whale. 
Starn  oflT,  Sir  ;  starn  off*!  the  creature's  in  his  flurry  !  " 

8.  The  warning  of  the  prudent  cockswain  was  promptly 
obeyed,  and  the  boat  cautiously  drew  off*  to  a  distance,  leav- 
ing to  the  animal  a  clear  space  while  under  its  dying 
agonies. 

9.  From  a  state  of  perfect  rest,  the  terrible  monster  threw 
its  tail  on  high  as  when  in  sport,  but  its  blows  were  trebled 
in  rapidity  and  violence,  till  all  was  hid  from  view  by  a  pyr- 
amid of  foam,  that  was  deeply  dyed  with  blood.  The  roar- 
ings of  the  fish  were  like  the  beliowings  of  a  herd  of  bulls, 
and,  to  one  who  was  ignorant  of  the  fact,  it  would  have  ap- 
peared as  if  a  thousand  monsters  were  engaged  in  deadly 
combat  behind  the  bloody  mist  that  obstructed  the  view. 
Gradually  these  eff*ects  subsided,  and,  when  the  discolored 
water  again  settled  down  to  the  long  and  regular  swell  of 


^ 


THE    RIVER.  135 

the  ocean,  the  fish  was  seen  exhausted  and  yielding  passive- 
ly to  its  fate.  As  life  departed,  the  enormous  black  mass 
rolled  to  one  side,  and,  when  the  white  and  glistening  skin 
of  the  belly  became  apparent,  the  seamen  well  knew  that 
their  victory  was  achieved. 


LESSON  LXII.     Life, 

1.  We  toil  for  renown,  yet  we  sigh  for  repose; 

We  are  happy  in  prospect,  yet  restless  to-day ; 
And  we  look  back  on  life,  from  its  dawn  to  its  close, 
To  feel  that  we  've  squandered  its  treasures  away. 

^.  Though  bound  by  obstructions  of  clay  to  our  sphere. 
Our  hearts  may  aspire  to  a  better  to  rise ; 
But  evil  the  weight  is  that  fixes  them  here, 

For  frail  are  our  pinions,  and  far  are  the  skies. 

3.  We  love,  —  bqt  the  object  has  withered  and  died, 

We  are  left  as  a  wreck  on  a  desolate  shore, 
To  remember  with  grief  as  we  gaze  on  the  tide, 

That  the  cherished,  the  lost,  and  beloved,  are  no  more. 

4.  The  lost,  —  the  lamented  !     Ye  cannot  return, 

To  learn  how  our  souls  were  with  yours  interwove ; 
To  see  the  vain  flowers  that  we  strew  on  the  urn. 
Or  behold  from  our  sorrow  how  deep  was  our  love. 


LESSON  LXIIL     The  River. 

1.  River!  River!  little  River! 
Bright  you  sparkle  on  your  way ; 

O'er  the  yellow  pebbles  dancing, 
Through  the  flowers  and  foliage  glancing, 
Like  a  child  at  play. 

2.  River !  River !  swelling  River  ! 

On  you  rush  o'er  rough  and  smooth,  — 


136  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

Louder,  faster,  brawling,  leaping 
Over  rocks,  by  rose-banks  sweeping. 
Like  impetuous  youth. 

3.  River  !  River !  brimming  River  I 
Broad,  and  deep,  and  still  as  time ; 

Seeming  still,  —  yet  still  in  motion, 
Tending  onward  to  the  ocean, 
Just  like  mortal  prime. 

4.  River!  River!  rapid  River! 
Swifter  now  you  slip  away  ; 

Swift  and  silent  as  an  arrow, 
Through  a  channel  dark  and  narrow^ 
Like  life's  closing  day. 

5.  River !  River  !  headlong  River  I: 
Down  you  dash  into  the  sea ; 

Sea,  that  line  hath  never  sounded, 
Sea,  that  voyage  hath  never  rounded, 
Like  eternity. 


LESSON  LXIV.     Reputation. 

\.  The  desire  of  praise,  when  it  is  discreet  and  moderate, 
is  always  attended  with  emulation  and  a  strong  desire  of 
excelling  ;  and,  so  long  as  we  can  stop  here,  there  is  no  harm 
done  to  ourselves  or  others. 

2.  St.  Paul  exhorts  Christians  to  follow,  not  only  what- 
soever things  are  right,  but  whatsoever  things  are  of  good 
report.  The  love  of  reputation,  therefore,  if  it  be  not  joined 
to  a  bad  disposition,  will  scarcely  of  itself  lead  us  to  im- 
moral actions. 

3.  Yet  the  things,  which  the  world  generally  admires  and 
praises  most,  are  not  the  things  in  their  own  nature  most 
valuable.  They  are  those  bright  abilities  and  fair  endow- 
ments, which  relate  to  the  present  life,  and  terminate  with  it. 

4.  Christian  virtues  are  of  a  more  silent  and  retired  na- 
ture. God  and  good  angels  approve  them ;  but  the  busy 
world  overlooks  them.     So  that  he  who  principally  affects 


ANECDOTE    OF  DWIGHT    AND    DENNIE.    137 

popular  approbation,  runs  some  danger  of  living  and  dying 
well  known  to  others  and  little  known  to  himself;  ignorant 
of  the  state  of  his  own  soul,  and  forgetful  of  the  account 
which  he  has  to  render  up  to  God. 


LESSON  LXV.     Anecdote  of  Dwight   and  Dennie. 

1.  Some  few  years  since,  as  Dr.  Dwight  was  travelling 
through  New  Jersey,  he  chanced  to  stop  at  the  stage  hotel, 
in  one  of  its  populous  towns,  for  the  night.  At  a  late  hour 
of  the  same,  arrived  also  at  the  inn  Mr.  Dennie,  who  had 
the  misfortune  to  learn  from  the  landlord,  that  his  beds  were 
all  paired  with  lodgers,  except  on«  occupied  by  the  cele- 
brated Dr.  Dwight.  Show  me  to  his  apartment,  exclaimed 
Dennie  ;  although  I  am  a  stranger  to  the  Reverend  Doctor, 
perhaps  i  may  bargain  with  him  for  my  lodgings.  "The 
landlord  accordingly  waited  on  Mr.  Dennie  to  the  Doctor's 
room,  and  there  left  him  to  introduce  himself 

2.  The  Doctor,  although  in  his  night-gown,  cap,  and  slip- 
pers, and  just  ready  to  resign  himself  to  the  refreshing  arms 
of  Somnus,  politely  requested  the  strange  intruder  to  be 
seated.  Struck  with  the  physiognomy  of  his  companion,  he 
then  unbent  his  austere  brow,  and  commenced  a  literary 
conversation. 

3.  The  names  of  Washington,  Franklin,  Rittenhouse, 
and  a  host  of  distinguished  and  literary  characters,  for  some 
time  gave  a  zest  and  interest  to  their  conversation,  until 
Dr.  Dwight  chanced  to  mention  Dennie.  '*  Dennie,  the  ed* 
itor  of  the  Port  Folio,"  f5ays  the  Doctor  in  a  rhapsody,  "  is 
the  Addison  of  the  United  States,  —  the  Father  of  Ameri- 
can belles  lettres.  But,  Sir,"  continued  he,  *'  is  it  not  as- 
tonishing, that  a  man  of  such  genius,  fancy,  and  feeling, 
should  abandon  himself  to  the  inebriating  bowl?" 

4.  *'  Sir,"  said  Dennie,  *'  you  are  mistaken.  I  have  been 
intimately  acquainted  with  Dennie  for  several  years ;  and  I 
never  knew  or  saw  him  intoxicated."  '*  Sir,"  says  the 
Doctor,  "  you  err.  I  have  my  information  from  a  particular 
friend ;  I  am  confident  that  I  am  right  and  you  are  wrong." 
Dennie  now  ingeniously  changed  the  conversation  to  the 
clergy,  remarking,  that  Abercrombie  and  Mason  were  among 

12* 


138  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

the  most  distinguished  divines ;  "  nevertheless,  he  consid- 
ered Dr.  Dwight,  President  of  Yale  College,  the  most  learn- 
ed theologian,  the  first  logician,  and  the  greatest  poet  that 
America  has  produced.  But,  Sir,"  continued  Dennie, 
*'  there  are  traits  in  his  character,  unworthy  of  so  wise  and 
great  a  man,  and  of  the  most  detestable  description ;  he  is 
the  greatest  higot  and  dogmatist  of  the  age  !  " 

5.  "  Sir,"  says  the  Doctor,  "  you  are  grossly  mistaken  ;  I 
am  intimately  acquainted  with  Dr.  Dwight,  and  I  know  to 
the  contrary."  *'  Sir,"  says  Dennie,  "you  are  mistaken  ;  I 
have  it  from  an  intimate  acquaintance  of  his,  who  I  am 
confident  would  not  tell  me  an  untruth."  *'  No  more  slan- 
der !  "  says  the  Doctor ;  "  I  am  Dr.  Dwight,  of  whom  you 
speak  !  "  '*  And  I,  too,"  exclaimed  Dennie,  "  am  Mr.  Dea- 
nie,  of  whom  you  spoke  !  " 

The  astonishment  of  Dr.  Dwight  may  be  better  conceived 
than  told.  Suffice  it  to  say,  they  mutually  shook  hands,  and 
were  extremely  happy  in  each  other's  acquaintance. 


LESSON  LXVI.     On  the  Death  of  Professor  Fisher,. 

Who  was  lost,  with  many  other  passengers,  in  the  Albion,  wrecked  on  the 
coast  of  Ireland,  in  1822.  He  was  a  Professor  in  Yale  College,  and  of  dis- 
tinguished abilities.  The  second  verse  refers  to  the  fact  that  he  was  going 
to  Europe  to  prosecute  scientific  inquiries, 

1.  The  breath  of  air,  that  stirs  the  harp's  soft  string. 

Floats  on  to  join  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm  ; 
The  drops  of  dew,  exhaled  from  flowers  of  spring. 

Rise  and  assume  the  tempest's  threatening  form ; 
The  first  mild  beam  of  morning's  glorious  sun. 

Ere  night,  is  sporting  in  the  lightning's  flash  ; 
And  the  smooth  stream,  that  flows  in  quiet  on,  ^ 

Moves  but  to  aid  the  overwhelming  dash 
That  wave  and  wind  can  muster,  when  the  might 
Of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea,  and  sky  unite. 

2.  So  science  whispered  in  thy  charmed  ear, 

And  radiant  learning  beckoned  thee  away. 
The  breeze  was  music  to  thee,  and  the  clear 
Beam  of  thy  morning  promised  a  bright  day. 


THE   BATTLE   OF  BUNKER'S    HILL.       139 

And  they  have  wrecked  thee  !  _  But  there  is  a  shore 
Where  storms  are  hushed,  where  tempests  never   L  • 

Wh^re  angry  sk.es  and  blackening  seas  no  more         ^   ' 
With  gusty  strength,  their  roaring  warfare  wase  • 

By  thee  its  peaceful  margent  shall  be  trod  I.     ^   ' 

Ihy  home  is  Heaven,  and  thy  friend  is  God. 

LESSON  LXVn.     /„„•,«..  of  tke  Battle  of  Bunker's 
^lU.     Death  and  Character  of  Warren. 

place?unTmh'f7T  a'h^fl''"  '^""^  ''='"'^'  ^^''-'^  '""k 

bthi  "r^^  ^  stf  r  Sh"  ts 

rr..!!:!  P!"'f  ,?<'"«^™«<'.  ""d  which  throws  over  fhe  vTi^! 
and  chivalry.  These  two  officers  were  pefsonaji/i^ifonVi-ro 
each  other,  and  had,  in  fact,  while  serving  together  in  the 
former  wars,  against  the  French,  contracted  a  close  friend- 
ship. 

2.  After  the  fire  from  the  American  works  had  taken  ef- 
fect. Major  Small,  like  his  commander,  remained  almost 
alone  upon  the  field.  His  companions  in  arms  had  been  all 
swept  away,  and,  standing  thus  apart,  he  became  immedi- 
ately, from  the  brilliancy  of  his  dress,  a  conspicuous  mark 
for  the  Americans  within  the  redoubt.  They  had  already 
pointed  their  unerring  rifles  at  his  heart,  and  the  delay  of 
another  minute  would  probably  have  stopped  its  pulses  for- 
ever. 

3.  At  this  moment,  General  Putnam  recognised  his  friend, 
and,  perceiving  the  imminent  danger  in  which  he  was  placed, 
sprang  upon  the  parapet,  and  threw  himself  before  the 
levelled  rifles.  *' Spare  that  officer,  my  gallant  comrades," 
said  the  noble-minded  veteran ;  "  we  are  friends ;  we  are 
brothers;  do  you  not  remember  how  we  rushed  into  each 
others'  arms,  at  the  meeting  for  the  exchange  of  prisoners?" 
This  appeal,  urged  in  the  well-known  voice  of  a  favorite 
old  chief,  was  successful,  and  Major  Small  retired  unmolest- 
ed from  the  field. 

4.  General  Warren  had  come  upon  the  field,  as  he  said, 
to  learn  the  art  of  war  from  a  veteran   soldier.     He  had 


lift  THE   FOURTH    READER 

offered  to  take  Colonel  Prescott's  orders ;  but  his  desperate 
co«ra«  would  hardly  permit  him  immediately  to  retire  It 
was  not  without  extreme  reluctance,  and  at  the  very  atest 
momen  that  he  quitted  the  redoubt;  and  he  was  slowly 
retr^atinV  from  it,  being  still  at  a  few  rods'  distance  only, 
when  the  British  had  obtained  full  possession.  H.s  person 
was  of  course  in  imminent  danger. 

5  At°hs  critical  moment,  Major  Small,  whose  life  had 
been  faved  in  a  similar  emergency  by  General  Putnam  at- 
tempted to  ?equite  tlie  service  by  rendermg  one  of  a  like 
character  to  Warren.  He  called  out  to  h.m  by  name  from 
the  red-bt,  and  begged  him  to  -rrender  at  the  same  J.,ne 
ordering  the  men  around  him  to  suspend  their  fire  JVa^en 
turned  his  head  as  if  he  recognised  the  voice,  but  the  effort 
tlntr  While  his  face  was  directed  toward  the  works 
:i:.r.,'^.«vlSMthe  forehead,  and  inflicted  a  wound 

6.  Had  it  been  the  fortune  of  Warren  to  live  out  the 
usual  term  of  existence,  he  would  probably  have  passed  with 
distinction  through  a  high  career  of  usefulness  and  glory. 
His  great  powers,  no  longer  limited  to  the  sphere  of  a  single 
province,  would  have  directed  the  councils,  or  led  the  armies, 
of  a  vast  confederate  empire.  We  should  have  seen  him, 
like  his  contemporaries  and  fellow-patriots,  Washington, 
Adams,  and  Jefferson,  sustaining  the  highest  magistracies 
at  home,  or  securing  the  rights  and  interests  of  the  country 
in  her  most  important  embassies  abroad ;  and,  at  length,  in 
declining  age,  illuminating,  like  them,  the  whole  social 
sphere,  with  the  mild  splendor  of  a  long  and  peaceful  re- 
tirement.    This  destiny  was  reserved  for  them,  —  for  others. 

7.  To  Warren,  distinguished,  as  he  was,  among  the 
bravest,  wisest,  and  best  of  the  patriotic  band,  was  assigned^ 
in  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  Providence,  the  crown  of  early 
martyrdom.  It  becomes  not  human  frailty  to  murmur  at 
the  will  of  Heaven  ;  and,  however  painful  may  be  the  first 
emotions  excited  in  the  mind  by  the  sudden  and  premature 
eclipse  of  so  much  talent  and  virtue,  it  may,  perhaps,  well 
be  doubted,  whether,  by  any  course  of  active  service,  in  a 
civil  or  military  department,  General  Warren  could  have 
rendered  more  essential  benefit  to  the  country,  or  to  the 
cause  of  liberty  throughout  the  world,  than  by  the  single 
net  of  heroic  self-devotion  which  closed  his  existence.     The 


CONTENDING    PASSIONS.  141 

blood  of  martyrs  has  been,  in  all  ages,  the  nourishing  rain 
of  religion  and  liberty. 

8.  There  are  many  among  the  patriots  and  heroes  of  the 
revolutionary  war,  whose  names  are  connected  with  a  great- 
er number  of  important  transactions;  whose  biography, 
correspondence,  and  writings  fill  more  pages;  and  whose 
names  will  occupy  a  larger  space  in  general  history  ;  but 
there  is  hardly  one  whose  example  will  exercise  a  more  in- 
spiring  and  elevating  influence  upon  his  countrymen  and  the 
world,  than  that  of  the  brave,  blooming,  generous,  self- 
devoted  martyr  of  Bunker's  Hill. 

9.  The  contemplation  of  such  a  character  is  the  noblest 
spectacle  which  the  moral  world  affords.  It  is  declared  by 
a  poet,  to  be  a  spectacle  worthy  of  the  gods.  It  awakens, 
with  tenfold  force,  the  purifying  emotions  of  admiration  and 
tenderness,  which  are  represented  as  the  legitimate  objects 
of  tragedy. 

10.  A  death  like  that  of  Warren,  is,  in  fact,  the  most  af- 
fecting and  impressive  catastrophe  that  can  ever  occur,  in 
the  splendid  tragedy  which  is  constantly  going  on  around 
us,  —  far  more  imposing  and  interesting,  for  those  who  can 
enjoy  it,  than  any  of  the  mimic  wonders  of  the  drama,  — 
the  real  action  of  life.  The  ennobling  and  softening  influ- 
ence of  such  events  is  not  confined  to  contemporaries  and 
countrymen.  The  friends  of  liberty,  from  all  countries,  and 
throughout  all  time,  as  they  kneel  upon  the  spot  that  was 
moistened  by  the  blood  of  Warren,  will  find  their  better 
feelings  strengthened  by  the  influence  of  the  place,  and  will 
gather  from  it  a  virtue  in  some  degree  allied  to  his  own. 


LESSON  LXVIII.     Contending  Passions. 

This  scene  from  Shakspeare's  play  of  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  repre- 
sents Shylock,  a  rich  and  covetous  Jew,  conversing  with  his  agent  Tubal,  in 
respect  to  his  daughter,  who  has  eloped  with  Lorenzo,  and  gone  to  Genoa.  He 
is  distressed  by  the  absence  of  liis  daugliter,  but  still  more  at  the  loss  of  jew- 
els she  took  with  her  ;  but  his  grief  is  soothed  in  some  degree,  l)y  learning 
that  Antonio,  a  rich  Venetian  merchant,  to  whom  he  owes  a  mortal  grudge, 
has  met  with  fatal  misfortunes  in  his  business. 

ShylocTc,  How  now.  Tubal,  what  news  from  Genoa  ?  Hast 
tliou  found  my  daughter  ? 


143  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

Tubal.  I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but  cannot 
find  her. 

Shy.  Why  there,  there,  there,  there!  a  diamond  gone, 
cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  Frankfort !  The  curse 
never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now;  I  never  felt  it  till  now  ; 
two  thousand  ducats  in  that,  and  other  precious,  precious 
jewels.  I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the 
jewels  in  her  ear !  Would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot,  and 
the  ducats  in  her  coffin!  No  news  of  them?  Why,  so; 
and  I  know  not  what  's  spent  in  the  search.  Why,  thou 
loss  upon  loss  1  the  thief  gone  with  so  much,  and  so  much 
to  find  the  thief;  and  no  satisfaction,  no  revenge  ;  nor  no  ill 
luck  stirring,  but  what  lights  o'  my  shoulders ;  no  sighs,  but 
o'  my  breathing ;  no  tears,  but  o'  my  shedding. 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too ;  Antonio,  as  I 
heard  in  Genoa,  — 

Shy.  What,  what,  what?  ill  luck,  ill  luck? 

Tub.  Hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from  Tripolis. 

Shy.  I  thank  God,  I  thank  God.  —  Is  ittrue  ?  is  it  true  ? 

Tub.  I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  escaped  the 
wreck. 

Shy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal.  —  Good  news,  good 
news ;  ha !  ha  !  —  Where  ?  in  Genoa  ? 

Tub,  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard,  one 
night,  fourscore  ducats. 

Shy.  Thou  stick'st  a  dagger  in  me  ;  —  I  shall  never  see 
my  gold  again.  Fourscore  ducats  at  a  sitting!  fourscore 
ducats  ! 

Tub.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors  in  my 
company  to  Venice,  that  swear  he  cannot  choose  but 
break. 

Shy.  I  am  very  glad  of  it;  I  '11  plague  him ;  I  '11  torture 
him ;  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Tub.  One  of  them  showed  me  a  ring,  that  he  had  of  ybur 
daughter  for  a  monkey. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her  !  Thou  torturest  me.  Tubal ;  it  was 
my  turquoise  :  I  had  it  of  Leah,  when  I  was  a  bachelor.  I 
would  not  have  given  it  for  a  wilderness  of  monkeys. 

Tub.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Shy.  Nay,  that  's  true,  that  's  very  true.  Go,  Tubal, 
fee  me  an  officer ;  bespeak  him  a  fortnight  before.  I  will 
have  the  heart  of  him,   if  he  forfeit;  for  were  he  out  of 


BAFFLED  REVENGE  AND  HATE.     143 

Venice,  I  can  make  what  merchandise  I  will.  Go,  go, 
Tubal,  and  meet  me  at  our  synagogue;  go,  good  Tubal;  at 
our  synagogue,  Tubal. 


LESSON  LXIX.     Bnffied  Revenge  and  Hate. 

This  scene  is  partly  explained  by  the  preceding  lesson.  Shylock,  insti- 
gated by  revenge,  is  determined  to  cause  the  death  of  Antonio,  and  seeks  to 
effect  it  by  claiming  the  literal  fulfilment  of  a  bond,  the  forfeiture  of  which 
is  a  pound  of  flesh  near  his  heart,  iu  case  he,  Antonio,  is  unable  to  pay  the 
debt  Portia  is  the  wife  of  Bassanio,  disguised  as  a  lawyer  from  Padua. 
The  lesson  taugiit  by  it  is,  that  malice  draws  down  evil  on  the  head  of  him 
that  designs  it,  be  he  Christian  or  Jew.  It  would  convey  a  false  moral,  if 
it  should  be  made  to  cast  any  reproach  on  a  Jew,  as  such;  for  a  Jew  may 
be  a  good  member  of  society  ;  and,  like  every  other  man,  ought  to  be  judged 
according  to  his  acts,  and  not  according  to  any  prejudice  which  current  er- 
ror or  bigotry  has  established. 

DuTce.  Give  me  your  hand.    Cariie  you  from  old  Bellariot 

Portia.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  You  are  welcome;  take  your  place. 
Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  1 

Portia.  I  am  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth* 

Portia.  Is  your  name  Shylock  ? 

Shylock.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Portia.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow ; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you,  as  you  do  proceed. 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  ? 

(  To  Antonio  ) 

Antonio.  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Por.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 

Ant.  I  do 

Por.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shy.  On  what  compulsion  must  1 1  tell  me  that 

Por.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath;  it  is  twice  blessed  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes. 


144  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Therefore,  Jew, 

Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this,  — 

That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 

Should  see  salvation ;  we  do  pray  for  mercy ; 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 

The  deeds  of  mercy.     I  have  spoke  thus  much. 

To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea  ; 

Which,  if  thou  follow  this  strict  court  of  Venice, 

Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  there. 

Shi/.  My  deeds  upon  my  head !  I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Por.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money? 

Bassanio.  Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court; 
Yea,  twice  the  sum  ;  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er. 

Por.  It  must  not  be ;  there  's  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established ; 
'T  will  be  recorded  for  a  precedent ; 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example, 
Will  rush  into  the  state ;  it  cannot  be. 

Shi/.  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment !  Yea,  a  Daniel ' 
O  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honor  thee  ! 

Por.  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  Here  't  is,  most  reverend  doctor ;  here  it  is. 

Por.  Shylock,  there  's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee. 

Shi/.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven  ; 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul  ? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Por.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit ; 
And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.     Be  merciful  ; 
Take  thrice  thy  money ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Sht/.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor. 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  worthy  judge  ; 
You  know  the  law;  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound.     I  charge  you  by  the  law. 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar, 
Proceed  to  judgment ;  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me.     I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant.  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 


BAFFLED  REVENGE  AND  HATE.     145 

Por.  Why  then,  thus  it  is ; 
You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  O  noble  judge  !  O  excellent  young  man 

Pur.  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty, 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  'T  is  very  true.     O  wise  and  upright  judge ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks  I 

Por.  Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast ; 
So  says  the  bond  ;  doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? 
Nearest  his  heart ;  those  are  the  very  words. 

Por.  It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shy.  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your  charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  kst  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  1 

Por.  It  is  not  so  expressed  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
'T  were  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy.  I  cannot  find  it ;  't  is  not  in  the  bond. 

Por.  Come,  merchant,  have  you  anything  to  say  ? 

Ant.  But  little ;  I  am  armed,  and  well  prepared. 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio;  fare  you  well  1 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you  ; 
For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom ;  it  is  still  her  use, 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth; 
To  view,  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow, 
An  age  of  poverty ;  from  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Commend  me  to  your  honorable  wife; 
Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio's  end  , 
Say,  how  I  loved  you  ;  speak  me  fair  in  death; 
And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge, 
Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 
Repent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 
And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt; 
For,  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep, enough, 
I  '11  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Por.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine  ^ 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it 
18 


146  THE  FOURTH  READER, 

Shy.  Most  rightful  judge  ! 

Por.   And  you  must  cat  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  Most  learned  judge  I     A  sentence  I  come,  prepare. 

Por.  Tarry  a  little  ;  there  is  something  else. 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood  ; 
The  words  expressly  are,  a  pound  of  flesh. 
Take  then  thy  bond ;  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice, 

Gratiano.  O  upright  judge  I  —  Mark,  Jew  I  —  O,  learned 
judge ! 

Shy.  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Por.  Thyself  shall  see  the  act ; 
For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assured, 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desirest. 

Gra.  O  learned  judge !     Mark,  Jew  !  a  learned  judge  f 

Shy.  I  take  this  offer  then ;  pay  the  bond  thrice, 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bas.  Here  is  the  money, 

Por.  Soft; 
The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice !  soft !  no  haste ; 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gra.  O  Jew  !  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge ! 

Por.  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  ofl*  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood  ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more, 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh.     If  thou  takest  more 
Or  less  than  just  a  pound,  —  be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  ;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair,  — 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gra.  A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew  ! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 

Por.  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?  take  thy  forfeiture. 

Shy.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bas.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is. 

Por.  He  hath  refused  it  in  the  open  court; 
He  shall  hare  merely  justice,  and  his  bond. 


A   SLIDE   IN   THE   WHITE    MOUNTAINS      147 

Gra.  A  Daniel,  still  say  I !  a  second  Daniel ! 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shi/.  Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 

Por.  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shi/.  Why,  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it ! 
I  'II  stay  no  longer  question. 

Por.  Tarry,  Jew  ; 
The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien. 
That,  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts, 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen. 
The  party,  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive, 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods ;  the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state  ; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  Duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  standest ; 
For  it  appears  by  manifest  proceeding. 
That,  indirectly,  and  directly  too, 
Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life 
Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurred 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehearsed. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  Duke. 

Gra.  Beg,  that  thou  mayest  have  leave  to  hang  thyself; 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord  ; 
Therefore  thou  must  be  hanged  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirit, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it. 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's ; 
The  other  ^alf  comes  to  the  general  state, 


LESSON  LXX.     A  Slide  in  the  White  Mountains, 

1.  Robert  looked  upward.  Awful  precipices,  to  the 
height  of  more  than  two  thousand  feet,  rose  above  him. 
Near  the  highest  pinnacle,  and  the  very  one  over  which 


148  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

Abamocho  had  been  seated,  the  earth  had  been  loosened  by 
the  violent  rains.  Some  slight  cause,  perhaps  the  sudden 
bursting  forth  of  a  mountain  spring,  had  given  motion  to  the 
mass;  and  it  was  now  moving  forward,  gathering  fresh 
strength  from  its  progress,  uprooting  the  old  trees,  unbed- 
ding  the  ancient  rocks,  and  all  roiling  onwards  with  a  force 
and  velocity  no  human  barrier  could  oppose,  no  created 
power  resist. 

2.  One  glance  told  Robert,  that  Mary  must  perish  ;  that 
he  could  not  save  her.  **  But  I  will  die  with  her!  "  he  ex- 
claimed ;  and,  shaking  off  the  grasp  of  Mendowit,  as  he 
would  a  feather,  "Mary,  oh,  Mary  !  "  he  continued,  rushing 
towards  her.  She  uncovered  her  head,  and  made  an  effort 
to  rise,  and  articulated  "  Robert ! "  as  he  caught  and  clasped 
her  to  his  bosom.  **  O,  Mary,  must  we  die?"  he  ex- 
claimed. **  We  must,  we  must,"  she  cried,  as  she  gazed 
on  the  rolling  mountain  in  agonizing  horror;  "  why,  why 
did  you  come  ?  " 

3.  He  replied  not :  but,  leaning  against  the  rock,  pressed 
her  closer  to  his  heart;  while  she,  clinging  around  his  neck, 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and,  laying  her  head  on  his 
bosom,  sobbed  like  an  infant.  He  bowed  his  face  upon  her 
cold,  wet  cheek,  and  breathed  one  cry  for  mercy;  yet,  even 
then,  there  was  in  the  hearts  of  both  lovers  a  feeling  of  wild 
joy  in  the  thought  that  they  should  not  be  separated. 

4.  The  mass  came  down,  tearing,  and  crumbling,  and 
sweeping  all  before  it  !  The  whole  mountain  trembled,  and 
the  ground  shook  like  an  earthquake.  The  air  was  dark- 
ened by  the  shower  of  waters,  stones,  and  branches  of  trees, 
crushed  and  shivered  to  atoms  ;  while  the  blast  swept  by 
like  a  whirlwind,  and  the  crash  and  roar  of  the  convul- 
sion were  far  more  appalling  than  the  loudest  thunder. 

5.  It  might  have  been  one  minute  or  twenty,  —  for  neither 
of  the  lovers  took  note  of  time, —  when,  in  the  hush  as  of 
deathlike  stillness  that  succeeded  the  uproar,  Robert  looked 
around,  and  saw  the  consuming  storm  had  passed  by.  It 
had  passed,  covering  the  valley,  further  than  the  eye  could 
reach,  with  ruin.  Masses  of  granite,  and  shivered  trees, 
and  mountain  earth,  were  heaped  high  around,  filling  the 
bed  of  the  Saco,  and  exhibiting  an  awful  picture  of  the  des- 
olating track  of  the  avalanche. 

6.  Only  one  little  spot  had  escaped  its  wrath  ;  and  there, 


THE    PLANTER'S    HOME    IN    FLORIDA.    149 

safe,  as  if  sheltered  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand,  who  notices 
the  fail  of  a  sparrow,  and  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  were 
Robert  and  Mary  ! 


LESSON  LXXI.     I'm    saddest  lohen  I  sing. 

h  You  think  I  have  a  merry  heart 

Because  my  songs  are  gay, 
But,  oh  !  they  all  were  taught  to  me 

By  friends  now  far  away. 
The  bird  will  breathe  her  silver  note 

Though  bondage  binds  her  wing,  — 
But  is  her  song  a  happy  one  ? 

I  'm  saddest  when  I  sing  1 

2.  I  heard  them  first  in  that  sweet  home 

I  never  more  shall  see. 
And  now  each  song  of  joy  has  got 

A  mournful  turn  for  me. 
Alas  !  't  is  vain  in  winter  lime 

To  mock  the  songs  of  spring, 
Each  note  recalls  some  withered  leaf,  — 

I  'm  saddest  when  I  sing ! 

3.  Of  ai'i  t'ne  friends  I  used  to  love. 

My  harp  remains  alone  ; 
Its  faithful  voice  still  seems  to  be 

An  echo  to  my  own. 
My  tears,  when  I  bend  over  it. 

Will  fall  upon  its  string, 
Yet  those  who  hear  me,  little  think 

I  'm  saddest  when  I  sing ! 


LESSON   LXXII.     The  Planter's  Home  in  Florida. 

L  From  this  point,  our  journey  to  St.  Augustine  was  to 
be  prosecuted  over  land.     Throughout    ihis  southern  tour, 
ffew  thitiga  had  afforded  me  a  greater  ^nd  of  amusement 
13* 


150  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

than  the  singularly  hap-hazard  and  disorderly  way  of  living 
observable  on  the  farms  and  plantations ;  and  I  cannot  con- 
vey to  you  a  better  idea  of  what  I  mean,  than  by  referring 
to  what  I  saw  here  ;  and  accordingly  beg  you,  while  the 
carriage  in  which  we  are  to  pursue  our  journey  is  preparing, 
to  take  a  quiet  peep  upon  the  arrangements,  both  within  and 
without. 

2.  The  main  dwelling  was  a  frame  house,  supported  above 
the  level  of  the  ground  on  stones  or  logs  at  the  corners. 
It  stood  alone,  without  a  single  casement,  but  with  a  little 
covered  gallery  in  front,  from  which  you  could  cast  your  eye 
over  an  extended  marshy  flat,  with  an  occasional  oasis  of 
tall  cabbage-tree  palmettos,  or  brushwood. 

3.  The  interior  was  divided  into  two  or  three  dwelling 
and  sleeping  apartments,  and  so  furnished,  as  to  admit  of  a 
degree  of  comfort  in  hot  weather,  but  comfortless  enough 
else. 

4.  The  necessary  adjuncts  to  a  large  dwelling-house  and 
plantation,  instead  of  being  in  orderly  and  convenient  con- 
tiguity to  the  principal  mansion,  were  dispersed  within  or 
about  the  fenced  enclosure  as  follows.  The  safe  and  the 
pantry  stood  about  five  paces  from  the  front  door,  overshad- 
owed by  a  fine  mulberry  tree. 

5.  The  smoke-house  was  three  paces  further  to  the  right ; 
the  log-built  kitchen  as  far,  but  rather  more  in  front,  to  the 
left  ;  the  flour-mill  and  cart-shed  still  further  in  the  rear  under 
a  palmetto  thatch  ;  the  sugar-mill  and  boiling-house,  and  seven 
other  sheds  and  out-houses,  of  all  forms  and  dimensions, 
were  to  be  seen  scattered  about,  as  though  they  had  been 
shaken  together  in  a  blanket,  and  suffered  to  fall  at  random 
on  the  earth,  at  a  moderate  distance  from  each  other. 

6.  Then  there  was  the  dove-cote,  and  a  quadrangular 
paled  enclosure  overshadowed  by  trees,  formed  the  place  of 
a  family  sepulture  at  some  distance  beyond  the  outer  gale. 
The  vice  and  the  anvil  were  each  lying  in  a  different  place; 
the  step-ladder  was  lodged  in  a  fork  of  the  mulberry  tree  ; 
the  wheelbarrow  and  chopping-machine  were  half  hidden 
in  the  rank  grass  in  a  corner  of  the  yard,  where  a  fine  fig- 
tree  overhung  the  angle  of  the  fence ;  the  axe  and  chopping- 
block  reposed  in  one  corner,  and  the  carpenter's  table  in 
another. 

7.  Bridles  and  a  grease-pot  hung  in  a  tree,  and  the  plough 


IRISH   BULLS.  151 

was  thrust  behind  the  house  under  the  flooring.     A  broken- 
down  gig,  without  wheels,  peered  out  from  under  the  shed. 

8.  As  to  the  rest,  cocks  and  hens,  and  Muscovy-ducks, 
crowded  the  enclosure,  and  walked  and  waddled  in  and  out 
of  the  house.  Five  or  six  dogs  are  still  to  be  added  to  my 
inventory.  They  all  seemed  bitten  beyond  bearing  by  the 
musquetoes  and  sand-flies,  and  now  and  then  came  together 
to  whine  and  to  scratch  each  other. 

9.  Lastly,  before  the  open  gate  to  the  south,  stood  our 
vehicle,  the  simplicity  of  whose  springs  would  certainly  have 
excluded  it  from  paying  the  tax  in  England, —  with  the  two 
beasts  of  draught,  the  one  a  stallion  called  Pound-cake,  and 
the  other  a  mule,  who  wagged  his  long  ears  at  the  call  of 
John  ! 

1 0.  In  this  we  took  our  seats,  and,  after  a  long  and  wea- 
risome day's  journey  of  forty  miles,  over  horrible  roads, 
through  a  wilderness  of  saw-palmetto,  swamps,  and  groves 
of  cabbage-palm,  jolted  almost  to  dislocation  of  our  bones, 
and  bitten  by  musquetoes  to  the  utter  loss  of  patience,  we 
found  ourselves  rumbling,  after  dark,  through  the  ruined 
gateways  and  narrow  streets  of  St.  Augustine. 


LESSON  LXXIIL     Irish  Bulls. 

L  Beside  the  attachment  of  the  Irish  to  old  customs, 
their  acknowledged  pugnacity,  and  that  improvident  rest- 
lessness, which  helps  them  rather  to  get  into  scrapes  than  out 
of  them,  common  fame  assigns  to  them  another  peculiar 
and  striking  characteristic.  I  mean  a  laughable  confusion 
of  ideas,  which  is  expressed  by  the  word  "  bull,"  — a  term 
derived  from  the  Dutch,  and  signifying  a  blunder. 

2.  Whether  or  not  the  Irish  are  more  addicted  than  others 
to  this  species  oi  faux  pas,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt,  that 
much  of  what  is  attributed  to  them  is  imaginary,  and,  so  far 
as  it  might  seem  to  imply  any  intellectual  imperfection,  that 
it  is  the  mere  invention  of  ill-natured  prejudice. 

3.  A  person,  in  using  another  language  than  his  own,  fre- 
quently makes  mistakes,  and  it  should  be  remembered  that 
English  is  not  the  mother  tongue  of  an  Irishman.  A 
Frenchman  once  speaking   to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  intending 


152  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

to  pay  him  a  compliment  by  alluding  to  the  Rambler, 
which  at  that  time  was  the  theme  of  universal  admira- 
tion, addressed  him  as  Monsieur  Vagabond,  —  the  word 
vagabond  in  French  being  synonymous  with  rambler.  An 
Italian  gentleman  in  speaking  to  an  American  lady,  and 
intending  to  say  that  she  had  grown  somewhat  fleshy,  since 
he  had  seen  her,  said,  *'  Madam,  you  have  gained  very  much 
beef  since  I  saw  you  !  " 

4,  Such  mistakes  as  these  are  often  made  by  foreigners ; 
but  good  taste  dictates,  that  they  should  be  passed  over  with- 
out remark,  or  in  that  polite  manner,  in  which  a  Frenchman 
is  said  to  have  noticed  a  blunder  of  Dr.  Moore's.  *' I  am 
afraid,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  the  word  I  have  used  is  not 
French."  "  No,"  said  the  Frenchman,  **  it  is  not,  —  but  it 
deserves  to  be." 

5.  Such  is  the  tolerance  we  extend  to  the  blunders  of 
foreigners,  speaking  a  language  with  which  they  are  imper- 
jfectly  acquainted,  unless,  forsooth,  they  chance  to  be  Hiber- 
nians. In  that  case  the  rule  is  reversed,  of  course.  A  poor 
Irishman,  once  being  called  upon  to  testify  in  court,  was 
suddenly  asked  by  the  judge,  "  Who  and  what  are  you  1  " 
Pat  was  fresh  from  Baliymony,  and  his  knowledge  of 
English  was  limited,  but  he  did  the  best  he  could.  **  Plase 
your  honor,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  poor  widow,"  meaning  wid- 
ower. 

6.  Now  this  mistake  was  no  worse  than  what  we  hear  from 
others  in  similar  situations ;  bui,  considering  that  the  blun- 
der  was  from  an  Irishman,  who  would  consider  himself 
restrained  from  laughter  by  any  polite  regard  to  the  man's 
feelings,  or  fail  to  discover  in  this  instance,  an  unquestion- 
able specimen  of  the  genuine  Irish  bull  ?  If  a  large  portion 
of  imputed  Irish  bulls  are  thus  mere  common-place  blun- 
ders, such  as  all  foreigners  are  liable  to  make  in  speaking 
any  other  than  their  native  tongue,  there  is  a  still  larger  por- 
tion that  are  attributed  to  the  Irish,  which  may  claim  a 
different  paternity, 

7,  Many  of  our  common  proverbs,  to  which  we  have 
given  a  local  habitation  and  a  name,  are  in  fact  borrowed 
from  other  countries ;  "  You  carry  coals  to  Newcastle," 
might  seern  to  claim  John  Bull  for  its  father ;  but  the  senti- 
ment had  existed  for  ages  before  John  Bull  himself  was 
born.     '^  You   carry  oil  to  a  city  of  olives,"  is  a  Hebrew 


IRISH   BULLS.  153 

proverb,  that  has  been  in  use  for  three  thousand  years,  and 
*♦  You  carry  pepper  to  Hindostan,"  is  an  Eastern  adage  of 
perhaps  as  great  antiquity. 

8.  The  fact  is  nearly  the  same  in  regard  to  many  of  the 
pithy  sayings,  smart  jokes,  and  witty  repartees,  which  are  in 
common  use  among  us,  and  are  attributed  to  well-known  in- 
dividuals. A  large  part  of  Joe  Miller's  jokes,  pretending  to 
have  originated  with  Englishmen,  are  told  in  France,  Ger- 
many, Russia,  Turkey,  Persia,  and  China,  and  in  like  man- 
ner descend  from  generation  to  generation,  being  succes- 
sively attributed  to  such  characters  as  they  may  suit.  Some 
scandalous  story  being  told  of  Dr.  Bellamy,  a  person  asked 
him  if  it  were  true.  *'No;"  said  the  Doctor;  "some 
fellow  invented  it  and  laid  it  to  me ;  but  the  rascal  knew 
me." 

9.  It  is  this  suitableness  of  an  anecdote  to  an  individual, 
that  often  gives  it  much  additional  point.  The  discreet 
story-teller,  therefore,  always  seeks  to  find  some  hero,  to 
whom  he  may  impute  his  tale,  in  the  hope,  that  he  may  give 
to  it  this  adventitious  zest.  An  American  was  once  telling 
some  anecdote  of  Ethan  Allen  of  Vermont,  to  a  German, — 
remarking,  by  the  way,  that  it  must  be  true,  for  his  grand- 
father was  present,  and  witnessed  the  fact.  "  It  's  a  good 
story,  certainly,"  said  the  German,  "  but  I  have  heard  the 
same  told  of  my  great-grandfather.  Baron  von  Hottingen, 
ever  since  1  was  a  boy." 

10.  This  incident  throwlfa  great  deal  of  light  upon  our 
subject.  Let  anyone  acquire  a  reputation  for  any  particular 
thing,  and  every  anecdote  from  the  time  of  Confucius  down 
to  the  present  day,  that  may  seem  to  be  illustrative  of  the 
qualities  of  this  individual,  is  told  of  him.  Thus  it  is,  that 
Ethan  Allen  is  the  hero  of  many  wild  adventures  that  he 
never  achieved,  and  the  witty  Lord  Norbury  is  credited  for 
many  a  stood  joke,  which  he  never  uttered. 

11.  There  is  nothing  like  starting  with  a  character  before- 
hand, even  though  it  may  be  the  outright  invention  of  igno- 
rant prejudice.  It  is  to  this  circumstance,  that  the  New 
England  Yankee  is  indebted  for  the  credit  among  our 
Southern  brethren  of  inventing  wooden  nutmegs,  oak-leaf 
cigars,  horn  flints,  and  other  ingenious  modes  of  cheating  in 
trade.  It  is  from  this  circumstance,  that  the  Irish  are 
credited  for  every  ludicrous  blunder,  to  whomsoever  it  may 
properly  belong. 


%>^ 


154  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

12.  It  was  an  English,  not  an  Irish  orator,  who  said,  in 
the  British  House  of  Commons,  '*  that  the  proposed  tax  on 
leather  would  be  an  insupportable  burden  to  the  barefooted 
peasantry  of  Ireland !  "  It  was  an  English,  not  an  Irish 
poet,  who  says ; 

"  A  painted  vest  prince  Vortigern  had  on, 
Which  from  a  naked  Pict  his  grandsire  won." 

13.  It  was  a  French  philosopher,  M.  Joinville,  who,  being 
prepared  to  observe  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  at  which  the  kmg 
was  to  be  present,  said  to  M,  Cassini,  "  Shall  we  not  wait  for 
the  king  before  we  begin  the  eclipse  ?  "  It  was  a  French 
gentleman,  who,  hearing  a  lady  exclaim  against  the  inhu- 
manity of  Buffon,  in  dissecting  his  own  cousin,  lemarked  ; 
"  But,  my  dear  Madam,  the  man  who  was  dissected  was 
dead  !"  It  was  also  a  Frenchman,  who,  being  asked  by  a 
young  man  for  his  only  daughter  in  marriage,  exclaimed ; 
"No,  Sair;  if  I  had  fifty  only  daughters,  I  would  not  give 
you  one  of  them." 

14.  Such  are  a  few  samples  of  genuine  foreign  bulls ; 
but  what  story-teller,  bringing  them  to  market,  and  wishing 
to  get  for  them  the  highest  price,  — a  hearty  laugh, —  would 
fail  of  attributincr  them  to  the  Irish  ? 


LESSON  LXXIV.     The  Town  Pump. 

1.  Noon,  by  the  north  clock  !  Noon,  by  the  east!  High 
noon,  too,  by  these  hot  sunbeams,  which  fall,  scarcely  aslope, 
upon  my  head,  and  almost  make  the  water  bubble  and 
smoke  in  the  trough  under  my  nose.  Truly,  we  public 
characters  have  a  tough  time  of  it.  And,  among  all  the 
town  officers,  where  is  he  that  sustains,  for  a  single  year, 
the  burden  of  such  manifold  duties  as  are  imposed,  in  per- 
petuity, upon  the  Town  Pump  ? 

2.  The  title  of  town  treasurer  is  rightfully  mine,  as  guar- 
dian of  the  best  treasure  that  the  town  has.  The  overseers 
of  the  poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  I  provide 
bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expeiise  to  him  that  pays 
taxes.     I  am  at  the  head  of  the  fire  department,  and  one  of 


■     THE    TOWN    PUMP.  155 

the  physicians  of  the  board  of  health.  As  a  keeper  of  the 
peace,  all  water-drinkers  will  confess  me  equal  to  the  consta- 
ble. I  perform  some  of  the  duties  of  the  town-clerk,  by  pro- 
mulgating public  notices,  when  they  are  posted  on  my  front. 
Sr  To  speak  within  bounds,  I  am  the  chief  person  of  the 
municipality,  and  exhibit,  moreover,  an  admirable  pattern  to 
my  brother  officers,  by  the  cool,  steady,  upright,  downright, 
and  impartial  discharge  of  my  business,  and  the  constancy 
with  which  I  stand  to  my  post.  Summer  or  winter,  nobody 
seeks  me  in  vain ;  for,  all  day  long,  I  am  seen  at  the  busiest 
corner,  just  above  the  market,  stretching  out  my  arms,  to 
rich  and  poor  alike;  and  at  night,  I  hold  a  lantern  over  my 
head,  both  to  show  where  I  am,  and  keep  people  out  of  the 
gutters. 

4.  At  this  solitary  noontide,  I  am  cup-bearer  to  the  parch- 
ed populace,  for  whose  benefit  an  iron  goblet  is  chained  to 
my  waist.  Like  a  dram-seller  on  the  mall,  at  muster-day,  I 
cry  aloud  to  all  and  sundry,  in  my  plainest  accents,  and  at 
the  very  tip-top  of  my  voice.  Here  it  is,  gentlemen  1  Here 
is  the  good  liquor  !  Walk  up,  walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up, 
walk  up !  Here  is  the  superior  stuff  1  Here  is  the  unadul- 
terated ale  of  father  Adam,  —  better  than  Cognac,  Hollands, 
Jamaica,  strong  beer,  or  wine  of  any  price ;  here  it  is,  by 
the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cer>t  to  pay  ! 
Walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  yourselves ! 

5.  It  were  a  pity,  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no  cus- 
tomers. Here  they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen  !  Q,uaff,  and 
away  again,  so  as  to  keep  yourselves  in  a  nice  cool  sweat. 
You,  my  friend,  will  need  another  cup-full,  to  wash  the  dust 
out  of  your  throat,  if  it  be  as  thick  there  as  it  is  on  your 
cow-hide  shoes.  1  see  that  you  have  trudged  half  a  score 
of  miles  to-day,  and,  like  a  wise  man,  have  passed  by  the 
taverns,  and  stopped  at  the  running  brooks  and  well-curbs. 

6.  Drink  and  make  room  for  that  other  fellow,  who  seeks 
my  aid  to  quench  the  fiery  fever  of  last  night's  potations, 
which  he  drained  from  no  cup  of  mine.  Welcome,  most 
rubicund  Sir!  You  and  I  have  been  great  strangers, 
hitherto;  nor,  to  confess  the  truth,  will  my  nose  be  anxious 
for  a  closer  intimacy,  till  the  fumes  of  your  breath  be  a  little 
less  potent. 

7.  Mercy  on  you,  man  !  the  water  absolutely  hisses  down 
your  red-hot  throat,  and  is  converted  quite  to  steam,  in  the 


166  THE  FOURTH   READER. 

miniature  Tophet  which  you  mistake  for  a  stomach.  Fill 
again,  and  tell  me,  on  the  word  of  an  honest  toper,  did  you 
ever,  in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any  kind  of  a  dram-shop,  spend 
the  price  of  your  children's  food  for  a  swig  half  so  deli- 
cious? Now,  for  the  first  time  these  ten  years,  you  know 
the  flavor  of  cold  water.  Good  by  ;  and,  whenever  you  are 
thirsty,  remember  that  1  keep  a  constant  supply,  at  the  old 
stand. 

8.  Who  next?  O,  my  little  friend,  you  are  let  loose  from 
school,  and  come  hither  to  scrub  your  blooming  face,  and 
drown  the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the  ferule,  and  other 
schoolboy  troubles,  in  a  draught  from  the  Town  Pump.  Take 
it,  pure  as  the  current  of  your  young  life.  Take  it,  and 
may  your  heart  and  tongue  never  be  scorched  with  a  fiercer 
thirst  than  now ! 

9.  There,  my  dear  child,  put  down  the  cup,  and  yield 
your  place  to  this  elderly  gentleman,  who  treads  so  tenderly 
over  the  paving  stones,  that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid  of  break- 
ing them.  What !  he  limps  by,  without  so  much  as  thank- 
ing me,  as  if  my  hospitable  offers  were  meant  only  for  peo- 
ple who  have  no  wine-cellars.  Well,  well,  Sir,  no  harm 
done,  1  hope. 

10.  Go  draw  the  cork,  tip  the  decanter;  but  when  your 
great  toe  shall  set  you  a  roaring,  it  will  be  no  affair  of  mine. 
If  gentlemen  love  the  pleasant  titillation  of  the  gout,  it  is  all 
one  to  the  Town  Pump.  This  thirsty  dog,  with  his  red 
tongue  lolling  out,  does  not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but  stands 
on  his  hind  legs,  and  laps  eagerly  out  of  the  trough.  See 
how  lightly  he  capers  away  again !  Jowler,  did  your  wor- 
ship ever  have  the  gout  ? 

11.  Your  pardon,  good  people!  I  must  interrupt  my 
stream  of  eloquence,  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of  water,  to 
replenish  the  trough  for  this  teamster  and  his  two  yoke  of 
oxen,  who  have  come  from  Topsfield,  or  somewhere  along 
that  way.  No  part  of  my  business  is  pleasanter  than  the 
watering  of  cattle.  Look !  how  rapidly  they  lower  the 
water-mark  on  the  sides  of  the  trough,  till  their  capacious 
stomachs  are  moistened  with  a  gallon  or  two  apiece,  and 
they  can  afford  time  to  breathe  it  in,  with  sighs  of  calm  en- 
joyment. Now  they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the  brim  of 
their  monstrous  drinking-vessel.     An  ox  is  your  true  toper. 

12.  I  hold  myself  the  grand  reformer  of  the  age.  From  my 


THE   TOWN    PUMP.  157 

spout,  and  such  spouts  as  mine,  must  flow  the  stream,  that 
shall  cleanse  our  earth  of  the  vast  portion  of  its  crime  and 
anguish,  which  has  gashed  from  the  fiery  fountains  of  the 
still.  In  this  mighty  enterprise,  the  cow  shall  be  my  great 
confederate.     Milk  and  water  ! 

13.  The  Town  Pump  and  the  cow!  Such  is  the  glorious 
copartnership,  that  shall  tear  down  the  distilleries  and  brew- 
houses,  uproot  the  vineyards,  shatter  the  cider-uresses,  ruin 
the  spirit  trade,  and,  finally,  monopolize  the  whole  business 
of  quenching  thirst.  Blessed  consummation !  Then  Pov- 
erty shall  pass  away  from  the  land,  finding  no  hovel  so 
wretched,  where  her  squalid  form  may  shelter  itself 

14.  Then  Disease,  for  lack  of  other  victims,  shall  gnaw 
his  own  heart,  and  die.  Then  Sin,  if  she  do  not  die,  shall 
lose  half  her  strength.  Until  now,  the  frenzy  of  heredita- 
ry fever  has  raged  in  the  human  blood,  transmitted  from  sire 
to  son,  and  rekindled,  in  every  generation,  by  fresh  draughts 
of  liquid  flame.  When  that  inward  fire  shall  be  extinguish- 
ed, the  heat  of  passion  cannot  but  grow  cool,  and  war, — 
the  drunkenness  of  nations,  —  perhaps  will  cease. 

15.  At  least,  there  will  be  no  war  of  households.  The 
husband  and  wife,  drinking  deep  of  peaceful  joy,  —  a  calm 
bliss  of  temperate  affections  —  shall  pass  hand  in  hand 
through  life,  and  lie  down,  not  reluctantly,  at  its  protracted 
close.  To  them,  the  past  will  be  no  turmoil  of  mad  dreams, 
nor  the  future  an  eternity  of  such  moments  as  follow  the  de- 
lirium of  the  drunkard.  Their  dead  faces  shall  express 
what  their  spirits  were,  and  are  to  be,  by  a  lingering  smile 
of  memory  and  hope. 

16.  Ahem  !  Dry  work,  this  speechifying,  especially  to  all 
unpractised  orators.  I  never  conceived,  till  now,  what  toil 
the  temperance  lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake.  Hereafter, 
they  shall  have  the  business  to  themselves.  Do,  some  kind 
Christian,  pump  a  stroke  or  two,  just  to  wet  my  whistle. 
Thank  you.  Sir. 

17.  My  dear  hearers,  when  the  world  shall  have  been  re- 
generated, by  my  instrumentality,  you  will  collect  your  use- 
less vats  and  liquor-casks,  into  one  great  pile,  and  make  a 
bonfire,  in  honor  of  the  Town  Pump.  And  when  I  shall 
have  decayed,  like  my  predecessors,  then,  if  you  revere  my 
memory,  let  a  marble  fountain,  richly  sculptured,  take  my 
place  upon  this  spot.     Such  monuments  should  be  erected 

14 


158  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

everywhere,  and  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  distin- 
guished champions  of  my  cause. 


LESSON   LXXV.     Colloquial  Powers  of  Dr,  Franklin. 

1.  Never  have  I  known  such  a  fireside  companion  as  ho 
was !  Great  as  he  was,  both  as  a  statesman  and  a  philoso- 
pher, he  never  shone  in  a  light  more  winning  than  when  he 
was  seen  in  a  domestic  circle.  It  was  once  my  good  for- 
tune to  pass  two  or  three  weeks  with  him,  at  the  house  of  a 
private  gentleman,  in  the  back  part  of  Pennsylvania ;  and 
we  were  confined  to  the  house,  during  the  whole  of  that 
time,  by  the  unintermitting  constancy  and  depth  of  the 
snows. 

2.  But  confinement  could  never  be  felt  where  Franklin 
was  an  inmate.  His  cheerfulness  and  colloquial  powers 
spread  around  him  a  perpetual  spring.  When  I  speak,  how- 
ever, of  his  colloquial  powers,  I  do  not  mean  to  awaken  any 
notion  analogous  to  that  which  Boswell  has  given  us,  when 
he  so  frequently  mentions  the  colloquial  powers  of  Dr.  John- 
son. The  conversation  of  the  latter  continually  reminds 
one  of  "  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war." 

3.  It  was,  indeed,  a  perpetual  contest  for  victory,  or  an 
arbitrary  and  despotic  exaction  of  homage  to  his  superior 
talents.  It  was  strong,  acute,  prompt,  splendid^  and  vocifer- 
ous; as  loud,  strong,  and  sublime,  as  those  winds  which  he 
represents  as  shaking  the  Hebrides,  and  rocking  the  old 
castles  that  frowned  upon  the  dark-rolling  sea  beneath.  But 
one  gets  tired  of  storms,  however  sublime  they  may  be,  and 
longs  for  the  more  orderly  current  of  nature.  Of  Franklin, 
no  one  ever  became  tired.  There  was  no  ambition  of  elo- 
quence, no  effort  to  shine,  in  anything  which  came  from  him. 
There  was  nothing  which  made  any  demand,  either  upon 
your  allegiance  or  your  admiration. 

4.  His  manner  was  as  unaffected  as  infancy.  It  was  na- 
ture's self  He  talked  like  an  old  patriarch  ;  and  his  plain- 
ness and  simplicity  put  you,  at  once,  at  your  ease,  and  gave 
you  the  full  and  free  possession,  and  use  of  all  your  faculties. 
His  thoughts  were  of  a  character  to  shine  by  their  own 
light,  without  any  adventitious  aid.     They  required  only  a 


TO    AN    INDIAN    GOLD    COIN.  159 

medium  of  vision  like  his  pure  and  simple  style,  to  exhibit, 
to  the  highest  advantage,  their  native  radiance  and  beauty. 

5.  His  cheerfulness  was  unremitting.  It  seemed  to  be  as 
much  the  effect  of  the  systematic  and  salutary  exercise  of 
the  mind  as  of  its  superior  organization.  His  wit  was  of 
the  first  order.  It  did  not  show  itself  merely  in  occasional 
coruscations,  but,  without  any  effort  or  force  on  his  part,  it 
shed  a  constant  stream  of  the  purest  light  over  the  whole  of 
his  discourse.  Whether  in  the  company  of  commoners  or 
nobles,  he  was  always  the  same  plain  man  ;  always  most 
perfectly  at  his  ease,  his  faculties  in  full  play,  and  the  full 
orb  of  his  genius  forever  clear  and  unclouded. 

6.  And  then  the  stores  of  his  mind  were  inexhaustible.  He 
had  commenced  life  with  an  ambition  so  vigilant,  that  noth- 
ing had  escaped  his  observation,  and  a  judgment  so  solid, 
that  every  incident  was  turned  to  advantage.  His  youth 
had  not  been  wasted  in  idleness,  nor  overcast  by  intemper- 
ance. He  had  been  all  his  life  a  close  and  deep  reader,  as 
well  as  thinker ;  and,  by  the  force  of  his  own  powers,  had 
wrought  up  the  raw  materials,  which  he  had  gathered  from 
books,  with  such  exquisite  skill  and  felicity,  that  he  had  add- 
ed a  hundred  fold  to  their  original  value,  and  justly  made 
them  his  own. 


LESSON   LXXVI.      To  an  East  Indian  Gold  Coin 

1.  Slave  of  the  dark  and  dirty  mine! 

What  vanity  has  brought  thee  here? 
How  can  I  love  to  see  thee  shine 

So  bright,  whom  I  have  bought  so  dear  ? 

The  tent-ropes  flapping  lone  I  hear, 
For  twilight  converse,  arm  in  arm ; 

The  jackal's  shriek  bursts  on  mine  ear, 
When  mirth  and  music  wont  to  charm. 

2.  By  Cherical's  dark  wandering  streams. 
Where  cane-tufts  shadow  all  the  wild, 
Sweet  visions  haunt  my  waking  dreams 
Of  Teviot,  loved  while  still  a  child  ; 
Of  castled  rocks,  stupendous  piled 


160  THEVOURTH  READER. 

By  Esk  or  Eden's  classic  wave ; 

Where  loves  of  youth  and  friendship  smiled 
Uncursed  by  thee,  vile  yellow  slave. 

3.  Fade,  day-dreams  sweet,  from  memory  fadel- 

The  perished  bliss  of  youth's  first  prime, 
That  once  so  bright  on  fancy  played, 

Revives  no  more  in  after-time. 

Far  from  my  sacred  natal  clime, 
I  haste  to  an  untimely  grave  ; 

The  daring  thoughts,  that  soared  sublime, 
Are  sunk  in  ocean's  southern  wave. 

4.  Slave  of  the  mine !  thy  yellow  light 

Gleams  baleful  as  the  tomb-fire  drear. — 
A  gentle  vision  comes  by  night 

My  lonely  widowed  heart  to  cheer ; 

Her  eyes  are  dim  with  many  a  tear, 
That  once  were  guiding  stars  to  mine; 

Her  fond  heart  throbs  with  many  a  fear!  — 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  thee  shine. 

5.  For  thee,  for  thee,  vile  yellow  slave ! 

I  left  a  heart  that  loved  me  true ! 
I  crossed  the  tedious  ocean-wave, 

To  roam  in  climes  unkind  and  new. 

The  cold  wind  of  the  stranger  blew 
Chill  on  my  withered  heart ;  —  the  grave, 

Dark  and  untimely,  met  my  view, — 
And  all  for  thee,  vile  yellow  slave! 

6.  Ha !  com'st  thou  now  so  late,  to  mock 

A  wanderer's  banished  heart  forlorn ; 
Now  that  his  frame  the  lightning  shock 

Of  sun-rays  tipped  with  death  has  borne? 

From  love,  from  friendship,  country,  torn. 
To  memory's  fond  regrets  the  prey. 

Vile  slave,  thy  yellow  dross  I  scorn !  — 
Go  mix  thee  with  thy  kindred  clay  ! 


ELOQUENCE    OF    JOHN    ADAMS.  161 


LESSON   LXXVII.     Eloquence  of  John  Adams. 

This  is  given,  in  Mr.  Webster's  Eulogy,  not  as  an  actual  speech  of  Mr. 
Adams,  but  as  an  imitation,  illustrating  his  fervor,  decision,  and  patriotic 
devotion. 

1.  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give 
my  hand  and  my  heart  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 
in  the  beginning  we  aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there 
is  a  Divinity  which  shapes  our  ends.  The  injustice  of 
England  has  driven  us  to  arms;  and,  blinded  to  her  own 
interest  for  our  good,  she  has  obstinately  persisted,  till  inde- 
pendence is  now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach 
forth  to  it,  and  it  is  ours.  Why,  then,  should  we  defer  the 
declaration?  Is  any  man  so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a 
reconciliation  with  England,  which  shall  leave  either  safety 
to  the  country  and  its  liberties,  or  safety  to  his  own  life  and 
his  own  honor  ? 

2.  Are  not  you,  Sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair,  is  not  he, 
our  venerable  colleague  near  you,  arc  you  not  both  already 
the  proscribed  and  predestined  objects  of  punishment  and 
of  vengeance  1  Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal  clemen- 
cy, what  are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the  power  of 
England  remains,  but  outlaws?  If  we  postpone  indepen- 
dence, do  we  mean  to  carry  on,  or  to  give  up,  the  war? 
Do  we  mean  to  submit,  and  consent  that  we  ourselves  shall 
be  ground  to  powder,  and  our  country  and  its  rights  trodden 
down  in  the  dust  ? 

3.  I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  We  never  shall 
submit.  Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obliga- 
tion ever  entered  into  by  men,  that  plighting  before  God,  of 
our  sacred  honor  to  Washington,  when,  putting  him  forth  to 
incur  the  dangers  of  war,  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of 
the  times,  we  promised  to  adhere  to  him,  in  every  extremity, 
with  our  fortunes  and  our  lives?  I  know  there  is  not  a 
man  here,  who  would  not  rather  see  a  general  conflagration 
sweep  over  the  land,  or  an  earthquake  sink  it,  than  one  jot 
or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith  fall  to  the  ground. 

4.  For  myself,  having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place, 
moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be  appointed  coinman- 
der  of  the  forces,  raised  or  to  be  raised,  for  defence  of  Amer- 
ieaa  liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,  and  mv 

14* 


162  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  wa- 
ver in  the  support  I  give  him.  The  war,  then,  must  go  on. 
We  must  fight  it  through.  And,  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why 
put  off  longer  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ?  That 
measure  will  strengthen  us. 

5.  It  will  give  us  character  abroad.  The  nations  will 
then  treat  with  us,  which  they  can  never  do,  while  we  ac- 
knowledge ourselves  subjects,  in  arms  against  our  sovereign. 
Nay,  I  maintain,  that  England  herself  will  sooner  treat  for 
peace  with  us  on  the  footing  of  independence,  than  consent, 
by  repealing  her  acts,  to  acknowledge,  that  her  whole  con- 
duct towards  us  has  been  a  course  of  injustice  and  oppres- 
sion. 

6.  Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded  by  submitting  to  that 
course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our  independence, 
than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to  her  rebellious 
subjects.  The  former  she  would  regard  as  the  result  of  for- 
tune ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep  disgrace. 
Why  then,  why  then,  Sir,  do  we  not,  as  soon  as  possible, 
change  this  from  a  civil  to  a  national  war  ?  And,  since  we 
must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put  ourselves  in  a  state  to 
enjoy  all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain  the  victory  ? 

7.  If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we  shall 
not  fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will 
create  navies.  The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to 
them,  will  carry  us,  and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously 
through  this  struggle.  I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people 
have  been  found.  I  know  the  people  of  these  colonies,  and 
I  know  that  resistance  to  British  aggression  is  deep  and  set- 
tled in  their  hearts,  and  cannot  be  eradicated.  Every  colo- 
ny, indeed,  has  expressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but 
take  the  lead. 

8.  Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  in- 
creased courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  res- 
toration of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered 
immunities,  held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the 
glorious  object  of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe 
into  them  anew  the  breath  of  life.  Read  this  declaration  at 
the  head  of  the  army;  every  sword  will  be  drawn  from  its 
scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow  uttered,  to  maintain  it,  or 
to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honor. 

9.  Publish    it  from  the  pulpit;    religion  will  approve  it, 


ELOQUENCE    OF    JOHN    ADAMS.  163 

and  the  love  of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved 
to  stand  with  it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  public  halls ; 
proclaim  it  there ;  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar 
of  the  enemy's  cannon ;  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their 
brothers  and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker's  Hill,  and 
in  the  streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  and  the  very  walls 
will  cry  out  in  its  support. 

10.  Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs ;  but  I 
see,  I  see  clearly,  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I, 
indeed,  may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time  when  this 
declaration  will  be  made  good.  We  may  die;  die  colonists; 
die  slaves ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on  the  scaf- 
fold. Be  it  so.  Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven, 
that  my  country  shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life, 
the  victim  shall  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice, 
come  when  that  hour  may.  But,  while  I  do  live,  let  me 
have  a  country,  or  at  least  the  hope  of  a  country,  and  that 
a  free  country. 

11.  But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  as- 
sured, that  this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treas- 
ure, and  it  may  cost  blood  ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly 
compensate  for  both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the 
present,  I  see  the  brightness  of  the  future,  as  the  sun  in 
heaven.  We  shall  make  this  a  glorious  day.  When  we  are 
in  our  graves,  our  children  will  honor  it.  They  will  cele- 
brate it  with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and 
illuminations.  On  its  annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears, 
copious,  gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of 
agony  and  distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of 

joy- 

12.  Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My 
judgment  approves  this  measure  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it. 
All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope  in  this 
life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  ofT, 
as  I  begun,  that,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the 
declaration.  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment;  independence  now^ 
and  Independence  forever. 


164  THE  FOURTH  READER 


LESSON   LXXVIII.     To  the  Rainbow 

1.  Triumphal  arch,  that  fill'st  the  sky 

When  storms  prepare  to  part, 
I  ask  not  proud  Philosophy 

To  teach  me  what  thou  art ;  — 

2.  Still  seem  as  to  my  childhood's  sight, 

A  midway  station,  given 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight 
Betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 

3.  Can  all  that  optics  teach,  unfold 

Thy  form  to  please  me  so. 
As  when  I  dreamed  of  gems  and  gold 
Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

4.  When  Science  from  Creation's  face 

Enchantment's  veil  withdraws, 
What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold,  material  laws! 

5.  And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams, 

But  words  of  the  Most  High, 
Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 
Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

3.  When  o'er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 
How  came  the  world's  gray  fathers  forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign. 

7.  And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 

O'er  mountains  yet  untrod. 
Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 
To  bless  the  bow  of  God. 

8.  Methinks,  thy  jubilee  to  keep, 

The  first-made  anthem  rang 
On  earth,  delivered  from  the  deep, 
And  the  first  poet  sang. 


SCENE    ON    THE    MISSISSIPPI.  165 

9.  Nor  ever  shall  the  Muse's  eye 
Unraptured  greet  thy  beam ; 
Theme  of  primeval  prophecy, 
Be  still  the  poet's  theme  ! 

10.  The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields, 

The  lark  thy  welcome  sings, 
When,  glittering  in  the  freshened  fields. 
The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 

11.  How  glorious  is  thy  girdle  cast 

O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town, 
Or  mirrored  in  the  ocean  vast, 
A  thousand  fathoms  down ! 

12.  As  fresh,  in  yon  horizon  dark. 

As  young  thy  beauties  seem. 
As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark, 
First  sported  in  thy  beam, 

13.  For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page, 

Heaven  still  rebuilds  its  span. 
Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age 
That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 


LESSON   LXXIX.     Scene  on  the  Mississippi. 

1.  In  the  spring,  one  hundred  boats  have  been  numbered, 
that  landed  in  one  day  at  the  mouth  of  the  Bayou,  at  New 
Madrid.  I  have  strolled  to  the  point  in  a  spring  evening, 
and  seen  them  arriving  in  fleets. 

2.  The  boisterous  gayety  of  the  hands,  the  congratula- 
tions, the  moving  picture  of  life  on  board  the  boats  in  the 
numerous  animals,  large  and  small,  which  they  carry,  their 
different  loads,  the  evidence  of  the  increasing  agriculture  of 
the  country  above,  and,  more  than  all,  the  immense  distan- 
ces which  they  have  already  come,  and  those  which  they 
have  still  to  go,  afforded  to  me  copious  sources  of  medi-» 
tation. 

3.  You  can  name  no  point  from  the  numerous  rivers  of 


166  THE   FOURTH   READER. 

the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi,  from  which  some  of  these 
boats  have  not  come.  In  one  place  there  are  boats  loaded 
with  planks  from  the  pine  forests  of  the  south-west  of  New 
York.  In  another  quarter,  there  are  the  Yankee  notions  of 
Ohio ;  from  Kentucky,  pork,  flour,  whiskey,  hemp,  tobacco, 
bagging,  and  bale-rope. 

4.  From  Tennessee  there  are  the  same  articles,  together 
with  great  quantities  of  cotton.  From  Missouri  and  Illi- 
nois, are  cattle  and  horses,  and  the  same  articles  generally  as 
from  Ohio,  together  with  peltry  and  lead  from  Missouri. 
Some  boats  are  loaded  with  corn  in  the  ear  and  in  bulk ; 
others  with  barrels  of  apples  and  potatoes. 

5.  Some  have  loads  of  cider,  and  what  they  call  "  cider 
royal,"  or  cider  that  has  been  strengthened  by  boiling  or 
freezing.  There  are  dried  fruits,  every  kind  of  spirit  man- 
ufactured in  these  regions,  and,  in  short,  the  products  of  the 
ingenuity  and  agriculture  of  the  whole  upper  country  of  the 
West. 

6.  They  have  come  from  regions,  thousands  of  miles 
apart.  They  have  floated  to  a  common  point  of  union. 
The  surfaces  of  the  boats  cover  some  acres.  Dunghill  fowls 
are  fluttering  over  the  roofs,  as  an  invariable  appendage. 
Chanticleer  raises  his  piercing  note.  The  swine  utter 
their  cries.  The  cattle  low.  The  horses  trample,  as  in 
their  stables. 

7.  There  are  boats  fitted  on  purpose,  and  loaded  entirely 
with  turkeys,  that,  having  little  else  to  do,  gobble  most  furi- 
ously. The  hands  travel  about  from  boat  to  boat,  make 
inquiries  and  acquaintances,  and  form  alliances  to  yield 
mutual  assistance  to  each  other,  on  their  descent  from  this 
place  to  New  Orleans.  After  an  hour  or  two  passed  in  this 
way,  they  spring  on  shore  to  raise  the  wind  in  town. 

8.  It  is  well  for  the  people  of  the  village,  if  they  do  not 
become  riotous  in  the  course  of  the  evening  ;  in  which  case, 
I  have  often  seen  the  most  summary  and  strong  measures 
taken.  About  midnight  the  uproar  is  all  hushed.  The 
fleet  unites  once  more  at  Natchez,  or  New  Orleans ;  and, 
although  they  live  on  the  same  river,  they  may,  perhaps, 
never  meet  each  other  again,  on  the  earth. 

9.  Next  morning,  at  the  first  dawn,  the  bugles  sound. 
Everything  in  and  about  the  boats,  that  has  life,  is  in  motion. 
The  boats,  in  half  an  hour,  are  all   under  way.     In  a  littlo 


SCENE    ON    THE    MISSISSIPPI.  IQ"^ 

while,  they  have  all  disappeared,  and  nothing  is  seen,  as  be- 
fore they  came,  but  the  regular  current  of  the  river. 

10.  In  passinfir  down  the  Mississippi,  we  often  see  a 
number  of  boats  lashed  and  floating  together.  I  was  once 
on  board  a  fleet  of  eight,  that  were  in  this  way  moving  on 
together.  It  was  a  considerable  walk,  to  travel  over  the 
roofs  of  this  floating  town.  On  board  of  one  boat  they  were 
killing  swine.  In  another  they  had  apples,  cider,  nuts,  and 
dried  fruit.  One  of  the  boats  was  a  retail  or  dram  shop. 
It  seems,  that  the  object,  in  lashing  so  many  boats,  had  been 
to  barter,  and  obtain  supplies. 

Jl.  These  confederacies  often  commence  in  a  frolic  and 
end  in  a  quarrel,  in  which  case  the  aggrieved  party  dissolves 
the  partnership  by  unlashing,  and  managing  his  own  boat  in 
his  own  way.  While  this  fleet  of  boats  is  floating  separate- 
ly, but  each  carried  by  the  same  current,  nearly  at  the  same 
rate,  visits  take  place  from  boat  to  boat  in  skiffs. 

12.  While  I  was  at  New  Madrid,  a  large  tinner's  estab- 
lishment floated  there  in  a  boat.  In  it  all  the  different 
articles  of  tin-ware  were  manufactured,  and  sold  by  whole- 
sale and  retail.  There  were  three  large  apartments,  where 
the  different  branches  of  the  art  were  carried  on  in  this 
floating  manufactory. 

13.  When  they  had  mended  all  the  tin,  and  vended  all 
that  they  could  sell,  in  one  place,  they  floated  on  to  another. 
A  still  more  extraordinary  manufactory,  we  were  told,  was 
floating  down  the  Ohio,  and  shortly  expected  at  New  Madrid. 
Aboard  this  were  manufactured  axes,  scythes,  and  all  other 
iron  tools  of  this  description,  and  in  it  horses  were  shod. 

14.  In  short,  it  was  a  complete  blacksmith's  shop  of  a 
higher  order ;  and  it  is  said  that  they  jestingly  talked  of  hav- 
ing a  trip-hammer,  worked  by  a  horse-power,  on  board.  I 
have  frequently  seen  in  this  region  a  dry-goods  shop  in  a 
boat,  with  its  articles  very  handsomely  arranged  on  shelves. 
Nor  would  the  delicate  hands  of  the  vender  have  disgraced 
the  spruce  clerk  behind  our  city  counters. 

15.  It  is  now  common  to  see  flat-boats  worked  by  a  buck- 
et-wheel, and  a  horse-power,  after  the  fashion  of  steamboat 
movement.  Indeed,  every  spring  brings  forth  new  contriv- 
ances of  this  sort,  the  result  of  the  farmer's  meditations 
over  his  winter's  fire. 


168  THE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  LXXX.      The  Cap  of  Liberty. 

The  following  passage  from  the  drama  of  "  William  Tell,"  represents  a 
piece  of  authentic  history.  Gesler,  tlie  Austrian  governor  of  Switzerland, 
about  the  year  1300,  caused  his  hat  or  cap  to  Ije  placed  on  a  pole,  and  the 
people  were  ordered  to  bow  down  to  it.  William  Tell,  a  gallant  Swiss 
patriot,  refused,  and  was  consequently  imprisoned.  He  afterwards  escaped, 
and,  in  conjunction  witli  otiier  patriots,  freed  his  country  from  the  Austrian 
dominion. 

(Enter  Sarnem,  with  soldiers,  bearing  Gesler' s  cap  upon  a 
pole,  which  he  Jixes  into  the  ground,  the  people  looking 
on  in  silence  and  amazement ;  the  guards  station  them- 
selves  near  the  pole. )  ^ 

Sarnem.  Ye  men  of  Altorf! 

Behold  the  emblem  of  your  master's  power 

And  dignity.     This  is  the  cap  of  Gesler, 

Your  Governor  ;  let  all  bow  down  to  it 

Who  owe  him  love  and  loyalty.     To  such 

As  shall  refuse  this  lawful  homage,  or 

Accord  it  sullenly,  lie  shows  no  grace, 

But  dooms  them  to  the  penalty  of  the  bondage 

Till  they  're  instructed.     'T  is  no  less  their  gain 

Than  duty,  to  obey  their  master's  mandate. 

Conduct  the  people  hither,  one  by  one, 

To  bow  to  Gesler's  cap. 
Tell.  Have  I  my  hearing  1 

{Peasants  pass,  taking  off  their  hats,  and  bowing  to  Gesler's 
cap  as  they  pass.) 
Verner.  Away  !    Away  ! 
Tell.  Or  sight  ?     They  do  it,  Verner ! 

They  do  it !  —  Look  !  —  Ne'er  call  me  man  again  ! 

I  '11  herd  with  baser  animals  !     They  keep 

Their  stations.     Still  the  dog's  a  dog.     The  reptile 

Doth  know  his  proper  rank,  and  sinks  not  to 

The  uses  of  the  grade  below  him.  —  Man  ! 

Man  I  that  doth  hold  his  head  above  them  all, 

Doth  ape  them  all.     He  's  man,  and  he  's  the  reptile. 

Look  !  Look  !  Have  I  the  outline  of  that  caitiff, 

Who  to  the  servile  earth  doth  bend  the  crown 

His  God  did  rear  for  him  to  Heaven  ?  * 


THE    CAP    OF    LIBERTY.  169 

Verner.  Away, 
Before  they  mark  us. 

Tell.  No  !  no  !  since  I  've  tasted, 
I  '11  e'en  feed  on. 

A  spirit  's  in  me  likes  it.     Draw  me  not 
Away  !  I  swear  I  will  not  leave  off  yet ; 
I  would  be  full,  —  full,  —  full  I     I  will  not  budge, 
Whatever  be  the  cost ! 

(Pierre passes  the  cap,  smiles,  and  bows  slightly.) 

Sar.  What  smiled  you  at? 

Pierre.  You  saw  1  bowed  as  low  as  he  did. 

Sar.  But 
You  smiled.     How  dared  you  smile? 

Tell.  Good  !  good  ! 

Sar.  (Striking  him.)  Take  that ; 
And  learn,  when  you  do  smile  again,  to  do  't 
In  season. 

Verner.  (  Takes  hold  of  TelVs  arm.)  Come  away. 

Tell.  Not  yet,  —  not  yet. 
Why  would  you  have  me  quit  the  fare,  you  see, 
Grows  better  and  better  ? 

Verner.  You  change  color. 

Tell.  Do  I? 
And  so  do  you. 

Sar.  (Striking  another.)  Bow  lower,  slave  ! 

Tell.  Do  you  feel 
That  blow.     My  flesh  doth  tingle  with  't.     Well  done ! 
How  pleasantly  the  knave  doth  lay  it  on  ! 
Well  done  !  well  done  !     I  would  it  had  been  I ! 

Ver.  You  tremble,  William.     Come,  you  must  not  stay. 

Tell.  Why  not  1  What  harm  is  there  ?  I  tell  thee,  Verner, 
I  know  no  difference  'twixt  enduring  wrong 
And  living  in  the  fear  on  't.     I  do  wear 
The  tyrant's  fetters,  when  it  only  wants 
His  nod  to  put  them  on  ;  and  bear  his  stripes 
When,  that  I  suffer  them,  he  needs  but  hold 
His  finger  up.     Verner,  you  're  not  the  man 
To  be  content  because  a  villain's  mood 
Forbears.     You  're  right,  —  you  're  right  ?   Have  with  you, 
Verner. 
'•^^^  i^^^^^  Michael  through  the  crowd.) 


170  THE  FOURTH  READER 

Sar.  Bow,  slave.     {Tell  stops  and  turns,) 

Michael.  For  what?     (Laughs.) 

Sar.  Obey,  and  question  then. 

Mic.  I  '11  question  now,  perhaps  not  then  obey. 

Tell.  A  man  !  a  man  ! 

Sar.  'T  is  Gcsler's  will,  that  all 
Bow  to  that  cap. 

Mic.  Were  it  thy  lady's  cap 
I  'd  curtsy  to  it. 

Sar.  Do  you  mock  us,  friend  ? 

Mic.  Not  I.     I  '11  bow  to  Gesler,  if  you  please, 
But  not  his  cap,  nor  cap  of  any  he 
In  Christendom  ! 

Tell.  A  man  !    I  say  a  man ! 

Sar.  I  see  you  love  a  jest ;  but  jest  not  now  j 
Else  you  may  make  us  mirth,  and  pay  for  't  too. 
Bow  to  the  cap. 

Tell.  The  slave  would  honor  him. 
Holds  he  but  out ! 

Sar.  Do  you  hear  ? 

Mic.  I  do. 

Tell.  Well  done! 
The  lion  thinks  as  much  of  cowering 
As  he  does ! 

Sar.  Once  for  all,  bow  to  that  cap. 

Tell.  Verner,  let  go  my  arm ! 

Sar.  Do  you  hear  me,  slave  ? 

Mic.  Slave  ! 

Tell.  Let  me  go  ! 

Ver.  He  is  not  worth  it,  Tell ; 
A  Wild  and  idle  gallant  of  the  town. 

Tell.  A  man  !  I  '11  swear,  a  man  !     Don't  hold  me, 
Verner. 
Verner,  let  go  my  arm  !  Do  you  hear  me,  man  ? 
You  must  not  hold  me,  Verner. 

Sar.  Villain,  bow 
To  Gesler's  cap. 

Mic.  No!  not  to  Gesler's  self ! 

Sar.  Seize  him ! 

Tell.  {Rushing  forward.)  Off,  off,  you  base  and  hireling 
pack ! 
Lay  not  your  brutal  touch  upon  the  thing 


THE    CAP    OP    LIBERTY.  171 

God  made  in  his  own  image.     Crouch  yourselves ! 
'T  is  your  vocation,  which  you  should  not  call 
On  freeborn  men  to  share  with  you,  who  stand 
Erect,  except  in  presence  of  their  God 
Alone ! 

Sar.  What !  Shrink  you,  cowards  1  Must  I  do 
Your  duty  for  you  ? 

Tell.  Let  them  but  stir  !     I  've  scattered 
A  flock  of  wolves  that  did  out-number  them,  — 
For  sport,  I  did  it.     Sport !     I  scattered  them 
With  but  a  staff,  not  half  so  thick  as  this. 
(  Wrests  Sarnem's  weapon  from  him.  —  Sarnem  files.  —  Sol- 
diers fiy.) 
What!  Ha!  Beset  by  hares  !  Ye  men  of  Altorf, 
What  fear  ye  1     See  what  things  you  fear,  —  the  shows 
And  surfaces  of  men  !     Why  stand  you  wondering  there? 
Why  look  you  on  a  man  that  's  like  yourselves, 
And  see  him  do  the  deeds  yourselves  might  do, 
And  act  them  not?     Or  know  you  not  yourselves? 
That  ye  are  men  ?     That  ye  have  hearts  and  thoughts 
To  feel  and  think  the  deeds  of  men,  and  hands 
To  do  them  'i     You  do  say  your  prayers,  and  make 
Confession,  and  you  more  do  fear  the  thing 
That  kneels  to  God,  than  you  fear  God  himself! 
You  hunt  the  chamois,  and  you  've  seen  him  take 
The  precipice,  before  he  'd  yield  the  freedom 
His  Maker  gave  him  ;  and  you  are  content 
To  live  in  bonds,  that  have  a  thought  of  freedom, 
Which  Heaven  ne'er  gave  the  little  chamois. 
Why  gaze  you  still  with  blanched  cheeks  upon  me  ? 
Lack  you  the  manhood  even  to  look  on. 
And  see  bold  deeds  achieved  by  others'  hands  1 
Or  is  't  that  cap  still  holds  you  thralls  to  fear  ? 
Be  free,  then  !  There  !  Thus  do  I  trample  on 
The  insolence  of  Gesler  !     (  Throws  down  the  pole.) 
Sar.  (Suddenly  entering  with  soldiers.)  Seize  him. 

(All  the  people  except  Verner  and  Michael  fly.) 
Tell.  Ha!  ^   ^  ^  -^^f 

Surrounded  ? 

Mf..  Stand!  I  '11  back  thee  ! 

Ver.  Madman!  Hence!     (For  ce.i  Michael  off.) 

Sar.  Upon  him,  slaves  !  Upon  him  all  at  once  I 


172  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

(  Tell,  after  a  struggle,  is  secured  and  thrown  to  the  ground, 

where  they  proceed  to  chain  him.) 
Now  raise  him.  {They  raise  him,  heavily  chained.) 

Tell.  Slave! 

Sar.  Rail  on,  thy  tongue  has  yet  its  freedom. 

Tell.  Slave! 

Sar.  On  to  the  castle  with  him,  —  forward  I 

Tell.  Slave!     (Exeunt.) 


LESSON  LXXXI.     Select  Passages. 

The  Mind. 

1.  The  mind  of  man  is  a  curious  thing,  in  some  re- 
spects not  unlike  an  old  Gothic  castle,  full  of  turnings  and 
windings,  long,  dark  passages,  spiral  staircases,  and  secret 
corners.  Among  all  these  architectural  involutions,  too,  the 
ideas  go  wandering  about,  generally  very  much  at  random, 
often  get  astray,  often  go  into  a  wrong  room  and  fancy  it 
their  own;  and  often,  too,  it  happens,  that  when  one  of 
them  is  tripping  along  quite  quietly,  thinking  that  all  is 
right,  open  flies  a  door;  out  comes  another  and  turns  the 
first  back  again,  —  sometimes  rudely,  blowing  her  candle 
out,  and  leaving  her  in  the  dark, —  and  sometimes  taking 
her  delicately  by  the  tips  of  the  fingers,. and  leading  her  to 
the  very  spot  whence  she  set  out  at  first. 

Sleep  of  Infancy. 

2.  O !  the  sweet,  profound  sleep  of  infancy ;  how  beau- 
tiful it  is!  that  soft  and  blessed  gift  of  a  heart  without  a 
stain  or  a  pang,  of  a  body  unbroken  in  any  fibre  by  the 
cares  and  labors  of  existence,  of  a  mind  without  a  burden 
or  an  apprehension.  It  falls  down  upon  our  eyelids  like  the 
dew  of  a  summer's  eve,  refreshing  for  our  use  all  the  world 
of  flowers  in  which  we  dwell,  and  passing  calm,  and  tran- 
quil, and  happy,  without  a  dream,  and  without  an  inter- 
ruption. But,  alas !  alas  !  with  the  first  years  of  life,  it  is 
gone,  and  never  returns.  We  may  win  joy,  and  satisfaction, 
and  glory,  and  splendor,  and  power,  we  may  obtain  more 


SELECT    PASSAGES.  173 

than  our  wildest  ambition  aspired  to,  or  our  eager  hope 
could  grasp ;  but  the  sweet  sleep  of  infancy,  the  soft  com- 
panion of  our  boyish  pillow,  flies  from  the  ardent  joys,  as 
well  as  the  bitter  cares,  of  manhood,  and  never,  never,  re- 
turns again. 

An  English  Park. 

S.  The  English  park  is  one  of  those  things  peculiarly 
English,  which  are  to  be  seen  nowhere  else  on  earth  but  in 
England ;  at  least,  we  venture  to  say,  that  there  is  nothing 
at  all  like  it  in  three,  out  of  the  four  quarters  of  this  our 
globe  ;  the  wide,  grassy  slopes,  the  groups  of  majestic  trees, 
the  dim  flankings  of  forest  ground,  broken  with  savannas, 
and  crossed  by  many  a  path  atid  many  a  walk,  the  occasion- 
al rivulet  or  piece  of  water,  the  resting-place,  the  alcove, 
the  ruin  of  the  old  mansion,  where  our  fathers  dwelt,  now 
lapsed  into  the  domain  of  Time,  but  carefully  guarded  from 
any  hands  but  his,  with  here  and  there  some  slope  of  the 
ground,  or  some  turn  of  the  path,  bringing  us  suddenly  upon 
a  bright  and  unexpected  prospect  of  distant  landscapes  far 
beyond,  —  "all  nature,  and  all  art."  There  is  nothing  like 
it  on  the  earth,  and  few  things  half  so  beautiful ;  for  it  is 
tranquil  without  being  dull,  and  calm  without  being  cheer- 
less ;  but  of  all  times,  when  we  would  enjoy  the  stillness  and 
the  serenity  at  its  highest  pitch,  go  forth  into  a  fine  old 
park  by  moonlight. 

Association  of  Ideas. 

4.  In  almost  all  cases  of  apprehension  and  uncertainty, 
the  human  mind  has  a  natural  tendency  to  connect  the  oc- 
currence of  the  moment,  whatever  it  may  be,  with  the 
principal  object  of  our  feelings  and  wishes  at  the  time.  It 
matters  not  whether  the  two  things  be  as  distinct  and  as 
distant  as  the  sun  is  from  the  moon  ;  association,  in  an  in- 
stant, spins  a  thousand  gossamer  threads  between  them, 
forming  a  glistening  sort  of  spider-like  bridge,  scarcely  dis- 
cernible to*  other  people's  eyes,  but  fully  strong  enough  for 
fancy  to  run  backwards  and  forwards  upon  forever. 
15* 


174  THE  FOURTH   READER. 


Domestic   Ties. 

5.  A  dissertation  on  the  moral  and  physical  nature  of 
man  might  be  given  to  prove  to  a  demonstration,  that  domes- 
tic ties  are  a  necessity  of  his  existence ;  and  let  any  man 
gaze  forward  into  future  years,  and  fancy  that  some  cold 
barren  is  placed  between  him  and  domestic  affection  ;  that 
no  kindred  eye  is  to  brighten  at  his  presence,  no  affection- 
ate lip  smile  at  his  happiness,  no  tear  of  sympathy  to  wash 
away  one  half  of  his  griefs,  no  cheerful  voice  to  dispel  the 
thoughts  of  care,  no  assiduous  hand  to  smooth  the  pillow  of 
sickness,  and  close  the  eye  of  death,  —  let  him  picture  his 
being  solitary,  his  joys  unshared,  his  sorrows  undivided,  his 
misfortunes  unaided  but  by  general  compassion,  his  sickness 
tended  by  the  slow  hand  of  mercenaries,  and  his  eyes  closed, 
while  the  light  has  scarce  departed,  by  the  rude  touch  of 
some  weary  and  indifferent  menial,  —  let  him  fancy  all  this, 
and  then  he  will  feel,  indeed,  that  domestic  ties  are  a  neces- 
sity of  our  existence. 

Moonlight  and  Midnight. 

0.  Let  any  one  who  is  fond  of  sublime  sensations,  take 
his  hat  and  staff,  and  climb  a  high  hill  in  a  moonlit  mid- 
night. There  is  a  part  of  that  dust  of  earth  which  gathers 
so  sadly  upon  our  spirit,  during  our  daily  commune  with  this 
sordid  world,  cast  off  at  every  step.  The  very  act  of  climb- 
ing has  something  ennobling  in  it,  and  the  clearer  air  we 
breathe,  the  elevation  to  which  we  rise,  all  give  the  mind  a 
sensation  of  power  and  lightness,  as  if  it  had  partly  shaken 
off  the  load  of  clay  that  weighs  it  down  to  the  ground.  But 
still  more,  when  with  solitude,  —  the  deep  solitude  of  night, 
—  we  rise  up  high  above  the  sleeping  world,  with  the  bright 
stars  for  our  only  companions,  and  the  calm  moon  for  our 
only  light,  —  when  we  look  through  the  profound  depth  of 
space,  and  see  it  peopled  by  never-ending  orbs,  —  when  we 
gaze  round  our  extended  horizon,  and  see  the  power  of  God 
on  every  side,— then  the  immortal  triumphs  ovej  the  mortal, 
and  we  feel  our  better  being  strong  within  us.  The  cares, 
the  sorrows,  the  anxieties  of  earth  seem  as  dust  in  the  bal- 
ance  weighed   with    mightier   things ;    and   the    grandest 


SELECT    PASSAGES.  175 

earthly  ambition,  that  ever  conquered  worlds  and  wept  for 
more,  may  feel  itself  humiliated  to  the  dust  in  the  presence 
of  silence,  and  solitude,  and  space,  and  millions  of  eternal 
suns. 

Uncertainty  of  Life. 

7.  It  is  a  wonder,  that  man  ever  smiles ;  for  there  is 
something  so  strange  and  awful  in  the  hourly  uncertainty  of 
our  fate,  —  in  the  atmosphere  of  darkness  and  insecurity 
that  surrounds  our  existence,  —  in  the  troops  of  dangers 
to  our  peace  and  to  our  being,  that  ride  invisible  upon  every 
moment  as  it  flies,  —  that  man  is,  as  it  were,  like  a  blind 
man  in  the  front  of  a  great  battle,  where  his  hopes  and  his 
joys  are  swept  down  on  every  side,  and  in  which  his  own 
existence  must  terminate  at  length  in  some  undefined  hour, 
and  in  some  unknown  manner,  —  and  yet  he  smiles  as  if  he 
were  at  a  pageant. 

The  Rising  Moon, 

8.  From  sunset  till  about  nine  o'clock,  there  had  been  a 
light,  refreshing  rain,  —  not  one  of  those  cold,  autumnal 
pours,  which  leave  the  whole  world  dark,  and  drenched, 
and  dreary,  but  the  soft  filling  of  light,  pellucid  drops,  that 
scarcely  bent  the  blades  of  grass  on  which  they  rested,  and 
through  which,  ever  and  anon,  the  purple  of  the  evening 
sky,  and,  as  that  faded  away,  the  bright  glance  of  an  eve- 
ning star,  might  be  seen  among  the  broken  clouds.  Towards 
nine,  however,  the  vapors,  that  rested  upon  the  eastern  up- 
lands, became  tinored  with  liofht;  and,  as  gifted  with  the 
power  of  scattering  darkness  from  her  presence,  forth  came 
the  resplendent  moon,  while  the  dim  clouds  grew  pale  and 
white  as  she  advanced,  and,  rolling  away  over  the  hills,  left 
the  sky  all  clear.  It  required  scarcely  a  fanciful  mind  to 
suppose  that,  —  in  the  brilliant  shining  of  the  million  of 
drops,  which  hung  on  every  leaf,  and  rested  on  every  bough, 
—  in  the  glistening  ripple  of  the  river,  that  rolled  in  waves 
of  silver  through  the  plain,  —  in  the  checkered  dancing  of 
the  light  and  shadow  through  the  trees,  and  in  the  sudden 
brightening  up  of  every  object  throughout  the  scene  which 
could  reflect  her  beams,  —  it  required   scarcely      ^nciful 


176  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

mind  to  suppose,  that  the  whole  world  was  rejoicing  in  the 
soft  splendor  of  that  gentle  watcher  of  the  night,  and  gratu- 
lating  her  triumph  over  the  darkness  and  the  clouds. 


LESSON    LXXXII.      Traits  of  Irish   Character. 

1.  Who  has  not  been  struck  with  the  natural  eloquence 
of  the  Irish?  We  need  not  go  to  G rattan,  Curran,  or 
Burke  for  specimens  of  this  gift  of  genius.  The  rudest 
Irish  laborer  among  us  seems  to  be  endowed  with  it.  If  an 
Irishman  really  sets  about  persuading  you  of  a  thing,  he 
seldom  fails  of  his  object,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  to  prove  that 
black  is  white. 

2.  It  is  curious  to  see  how  an  Irishman  can  embellish  the 
most  naked  idea,  and  amplify  the  commonest  topic.  There 
is  a  picture  called  "  The  Sturdy  Beggar,"  belonging  to  the 
Athenaeum  in  Boston.  It  is  the  portrait  of  an  Irishman  ;  and 
I  have  heard  something  like  the  following  anecdote  respect- 
ing it.  One  day  a  man  presented  himself  at  the  artist's 
door,  and  begged  for  alms.  *'  Walk  in,"  said  the  painter, 
''  and  tell  me  your  name."  *'  My  name.  Sir,"  said  the  beg- 
gar, "  is  Patrick  McGruger,  and  it 's  true  what  I  tell  ye." 

3.  "But,"  said  the  artist,  "  why  don't  you  go  to  work, 
instead  of  begging  about  the  streets  in  this  fashion  ? " 
**  Why  don't  I  go  to  work,  your  honor  ?  and  is  it  that,  ye  'd 
like  to  know  ?  When  ye  've  threescore  years  and  ten  like 
myself,  ye  '11  be  more  ready  to  answer  such  a  question  than 
to  ask  it." 

4.  "Well,  well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  artist,  "you 
can  at  least  sit  down  and  let  me  paint  your  portrait.''  "  Is 
it  my  handsome  portrait  you  're  wanting  ?  and  do  you  wish 
me  to  sit  down  there,  and  let  you  paint  it  ?  Faith  !  that  's 
a  thing  I  can  do,  though  I  was  not  brought  up  to  it.  The 
time  has  been,  your  honor,  when  Patrick  McGruger  could 
do  better  than  sit  for  the  portrait  of  a  beggar.  But  I  must 
do  what  I  may  ;  for  these  old  limbs  ask  to  be  fed,  though 
they  refuse  to  work." 

5.  The  author  of  the  "  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Irish 
Life"  furnishes  us  with  a  characteristic,  though  fictitious, 
•pecimen  of  this  natural  eloquence  of  the  common  people, 


TRAITS    OF    IRISH    CHARACTER.  I77 

in  a  poor  woman  who  mourns,  at  a  wake,  over  the  dead 
body  of  her  patron,  Goodman  Lee.  She  is  described  as 
seated  on  the  floor,  her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  clasped 
around  her  knees,  while,  in  a  low  and  mournful  tone,  she 
spoke  as  follows. 

6.  *'  Kind  and  gentle  were  you,  and  lived  through  sorrow 
and  tears,  —  frost  and  snow,  —  with  an  open  house  and  an 
open  heart  The  sun  of  Heaven  shone  on  you,  and  you  re- 
flected its  warmth  on  others.  The  Flower  of  the  Valley 
saw  and  loved  you ;  and  though  she  is  of  a  strange  country, 
you  taught  her  to  love  the  Green  and  Weeping  Island,  —  to 
dry  the  widow's  tears,  —  to  feed  the  orphan,  —  to  clotlie  the 
naked. 

7-  "  O,  why  did  you  die,  and  leave  behind  you  all  the 
good  things  of  life,  —  and,  above  all,  the  beautiful  boy  who 
will  be  the  oak  of  the  forest  yet.  O,  the  justice  and  the 
mildness  were  you  of  the  country's  side,  and,  while  grass 
grows,  and  waters  run,  we  will  mourn  for  Goodman  Lee. 
The  beggar  walked  from  his  door  with  a  full  sack,  —  and  he 
turned  wormwood  into  sweetness  with  his  smile.  But  now 
his  wife  is  desolate,  and  his  full  and  plentiful  home  has  no 
master !  " 

8.  The  wit  of  the  Irish  is  no  less  natural  and  striking 
than  their  eloquence.  That  very  transposition  of  ideas, 
which  sometimes  produces  a  bull  or  a  blunder,  not  unfre- 
quently  startles  us  as  if  with  the  scintillations  of  humor. 
"  What  are  you  doing  there?"  said  one  Irishman  to  another, 
who  was  digging  away  the  dirt  before  a  cellar- window. 
"  I  'm  going  to  open  this  window,"  said  Pat,  ''  to  let  the 
dark  out  of  the  cellar  !  " 

9.  A  few  years  ago,  as  several  persons  were  standing  on  a 
wharf  at  Liverpool,  one  of  them  slipped  into  the  dock.  The 
first  individual  to  move  for  the  relief  of  the  drowning  man 
was  an  Irishman,  who  plunged  into  the  water,  and,  after  a 
severe  struggle,  rescued  the  person  from  the  waves.  When 
the  man  had  at  length  recovered  from  his  ducking,  he  took 
some  change  out  of  his  pocket,  and,  selecting  a  sixpence, 
handed  it  to  the  Irishman  who  had  saved  Ins  life.  The 
latter  looked  an  instant  at  the  sixpence  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  —  and  then  slowly  measured  with  his  eye  the  indi- 
vidual whom  he  had  rescued,  and  observing,  that  he  was 
a  very  thin^  withered  little  man,  he  put  the  money  into  his 


178  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

pocket,  and  turned  on  his  heel,  saying  significantly,  "  It  '3 
enough  !  " 

10.  Wit  is,  in  fact,  the  whole  stock  in  trade  of  one  half 
the  Irish  nation,  —  and,  though  it  often  leaves  them  desti- 
tute of  a  dinner,  it  seldom  fails  to  make,  even  destitution 
and  want,  the  occasion  of  its  merry  sallies.  It  is  perhaps 
this  playfulness  of  fancy,  that  is  partly  the  source  of  that 
cheerfulness  which  forms  a  remarkable  characteristic  of  the 
Irish  people.  '*  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof," 
is  an  injunction  literally  construed  and  implicitly  obeyed. 

11.  Cheerfulness  seems,  indeed,  to  be  so  natural  to  the 
Irish,  as  hardly  to  possess  the  self-denying  ingredients  of 
virtue.  Not  even  poverty,  want,  oppression,  can  wholly  shut 
out  the  genial  light  of  cheerfulness  from  an  Irishman's 
cabin.  If  it  come  not  in  at  the  door  or  the  window,  fancy 
will  strike  out  the  spark,  hope  cherish  it,  wit  blow  it  into  a 
blaze. 

12.  There  is  something  even  pathetic  in  the  instances  that 
are  related  of  Irish  wit  and  cheerfulness  iq  the  midst  of 
poverty  and  desolation.  A  traveller  in  Ireland  tells  us,  that 
on  one  occasion  he  went  to  an  Irish  cabin,  where  he  found 
a  peasant  and  his  numerous  family  crowded  into  the  only 
room  in  the  building,  which  was  scarcely  more  than  twelve 
feet  square.  In  one  corner  lay  a  pig,  it  being  the  custom 
among  these  poor  people  to  fatten  one  of  these  animals 
every  six  months  for  the  purpose  of  paying  the  rent. 

13.  The  traveller  describes  the  hut  as  exhibiting  the  most 
naked  scene  of  relentless  poverty  that  could  be  imagined. 
The  gaunt  form  of  the  peasant,  the  sunken  cheek  of  the 
wife,  the  pallid  countenances  of  the  children,  all  showed 
that  the  craving  wants  of  nature  were  but  half  supplied. 
But  the  pig  presented  a  remarkable  contrast  to  this  general 
aspect  of  want  and  woe.  There  it  lay,  luxuriously  embed- 
ded in  aristocratic  straw,  sleek,  round,  and  pampered.  * 

14.  As  the  stranger  entered  the  hut,  it  did  not  even  con- 
descend to  rise ;  but  seemed  to  intimate,  by  a  delicate  and 
affected  grunt,  the  sentiment  of  the  fat  lady  in  the  play, 
**  Don't  be  rude,  for  really,  my  nerves  wont  bear  it !  " 

15.  The  stranger  felt  his  heart  touched  at  this  scene,  for 
it  seemed  to  show,  that,  day  by  day,  the  food  that  the  peas- 
ant and  his  children  needed,  was  doled  out  to  this  pampered 
animal,  to  provide   for  the  payment  of  the  rent,  and  thus 


ANECDOTE   OF    DR.    CHAUNCY.  179 

insure,— what  was  even  more  necessary  than  food  beyond  the 
point  of  mere  starvation,  —  a  shelter  for  the  family  from  the 
elements.  At  length  he  said  to  the  Irishman,  "  Pray,  why 
do  you  keep  this  creature  in  the  house?  "  ''  Sure,"  said  the 
peasant,  with  a  smile,  "  your  honor  wouldn't  turn  out  the 
jintleman  what  pays  the  rint." 

16.  Thus  it  is,  that  the  Irishman's  cheerfulness  is  made  to 
solace  his  poverty  ;  thus  it  is,  that  the  diamond  can  illumin- 
ate the  darkness;  that  the  playful  light  of  a  heavenly  virtue 
may  be  drawn  down  to  earth,  even  by  the  iron  of  which 
misery  forges  its  fetters. 


LESSON    LXXXIII.     Anecdote  of  Dr.  Chauncy. 
Dr.  Chauncy  was  a  distinguished  clergyman  of  Boston,  who  died  in  1787. 

1.  Dr.  Cooper,  who  was  a  man  of  accomplished  man- 
ners, and  fond  of  society,  was  able,  by  the  aid  of  his  fine 
talents,  to  dispense  with  some  of  the  severe  study  that  oth- 
ers engaged  in.  This,  however,  did  not  escape  the  envy 
and  malice  of  the  world,  and  it  was  said,  with  a  kind  of  petu- 
lant and  absurd  exaggeration,  that  he  used  to  walk  to  the 
South  End  of  a  Saturday,  and,  if  he  saw  a  man  riding  into 
town  in  a  black  coat,  would  stop,  and  ask  him  to  preach  the 
next  day. 

2.  Dr.  Chauncy  was  a  close  student,  very  absent,  and 
very  irritable.  On  these  traits  in  the  character  of  the  two 
clergymen,  a  servant  of  Dr.  Chauncy  laid  a  scheme  for 
obtaining  a  particular  object  from  his  master.  Scipio  went 
into  his  master's  study  one  morning,  to  receive  some  direc- 
tions, which,  the  Doctor  having  given,  resumed  his  writing, 
but  the  servant  still  remained.  The  master,  looking  up  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  and  supposing  he  had  just  come  in, 
said,  "Scipio,  what  do  you  want?"  "I  want  a  new  coat, 
massa."  "Well,  go  to  Mrs.  Chauncy,  and  tell  her  to  give 
you  one  of  my  old  coats ; "  and  was  again  absorbed  in  his 
studies. 

3.  The  servant  remained  fixed.  After  awhile,  the  Doc- 
tor, turning  his  eyes  that  way,  saw  him  again,  as  if  for  the 
first  time,  ^n4  said,  "  What  do  you  want,  Scip  ?  "    "  I  want 


180  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

a  new  coat,  massa."  "Well,  go  to  my  wife,  and  ask  her  to 
give  you  one  of  my  old  coats ; "  and  fell  to  writing  once 
more.  Scipio  remained  in  the  same  posture.  After  a  few 
moments,  the  Doctor  looked  towards  him,  and  repeated  the 
former  question,  *'  Scipio,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  "  I  want  a 
new  coat,  massa." 

4.  It  now  flashed  over  the  Doctor's  mind,  that  there  was 
something  of  repetition  in  this  dialogue.  "  Why,  have  I 
not  told  you  before  to  ask  Mrs.  Chauncy  to  give  you  one  ? 
Get  away."  "  Yes,  massa,  but  I  no  want  a  black  coat." 
"Not  want  a  black  coat!  why  not?"  '*  Why,  massa,  I 
'fraid  to  tell  you,  but  I  don't  want  a  black  coat"  "What's 
the  reason  you  don't  want  a  black  coat  ?  Tell  me,  direct- 
ly." "O!  massa,  I  don't  want  a  black  coat,  but  I  'fraid  to 
tell  you  the  reason,  you  so  passionate."  "  You  rascal !  will 
you  tell  me  the  reason?"  "O!  massa,  I 'm  sure  you  be 
angry."  "If  I  had  my  cane  here,  you  villain,  I  'd  break 
your  bones.  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean?"  "  I  'fraid 
to  tell  you,  massa;  I  know  you  be  angry." 

5.  The  Doctor's  impatience  was  now  highly  irritated  ;  and 
Scipio,  perceiving,  by  his  glance  at  the  tongs,  that  he  might 
find  a  substitute  for  the  cane,  and  that  he  was  sufficiently 
excited,  said,  "  Well,  massa,  you  make  me  tell,  but  I  know 
you  be  angry,  —  I 'fraid,  massa,  if  I  wear  another  black 
coat.  Dr.  Cooper  ask  me  to  preach  for  him  ! "  This  unex- 
pected termination  realized  the  servant's  calculation ;  his  ir- 
ritated master  burst  into  a  laugh,  —  "  Go,  you  rascal,  get 
my  hat  and  cane,  and  tell  Mrs.  Chauncy  she  may  give  you 
a  coat  of  any  color,  a  red  one  if  you  choose."  Away  went 
the  negro  to  his  mistress,  and  the  Doctor  to  tell  the  story  to 
his  friend,  Dr.  Cooper. 


LESSON    LXXXIV.     The  Glory  of  God  in  the  Beauties 
of  Creation. 

1.  Tbou  art,  O  God  !  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 
Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Ar9  but  reflections  caught  from  tbe». 


DOMESTIC   LOVR.  181 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

2.  When  day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 

Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 
And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven ; 
Those  hues,  that  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant.  Lord  !  are  thine. 

3.  When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 

O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies. 
Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume    ^ 

Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  dyes  ;  — 
That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 
So  grand,  so  countless.  Lord !  are  thine. 

4.  When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breathes, 

Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 
And  every  flower  the  summer  wreathes, 

Is  born  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 


LESSON  LXXXV.     Domestic  Love. 

1.  Domestic  Love !  not  in  proud  palace  halls 
Is  often  seen  thy  beauty  to  abide  ; 

Thy  dwelling  is  in  lonely  cottage  walls. 
That  in  the  thickets  of  the  woodbine  hide ; 
With  hum  of  bees  around,  and  from  the  side 
Of  woody  hills  some  little  bubbling  spring, 
Shining  along,  through  banks  with  harebells  dyed : 
And  many  a  bird  to  warble  on  the  wing. 
When  morn  her  saffron  robe  o'er  heaven  and  earth  doth  fling, 

2.  O !  love  of  loves !  —  to  thy  white  hand  is  given 
Of  earthly  happiness  the  golden  key. 

Thine  are  the  joyous  hours  of  winter's  even, 
When  the  babes  cling  around  their  father's  knee; 
16 


.82  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

And  thine  the  voice,  that,  on  the  midnight  sea. 
Melts  the  rude  mariner  with  tlioughts  of  home, 

-    Peopling  the  gloom  with  all  he  longs  to  see. 
Spirit !  I  've  built  a  shrine ;  and  thou  hast  come 

And  on  its  altar  closed,  forever  closed,  thy  plume. 


LESSON  LXXXVI.     A  Gypsy  Encampment  in  England. 

1.  The  road  pursued  by  the  two  travellers,  though  sandy, 
was  smooth  and  neat,  and  well  tended,  and  came  down  to 
the  slope  of  a  long  hill,  exposing  its  course  to  the  eye  for 
nearly  a  mile.  There  was  a  gentle  rise  on  each  side,  cover- 
ed with  wood  ;  but  this  rise,  and  its  forest  burden,  did  not 
advance  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  road  on  either  hand, 
leaving  between,  except  where  it  was  interrupted  by  some 
old  sand-pits, —  a  space  of  open  ground,  covered  with  short, 
green  turf,  with  here  and  there  an  ancient  oak  standing  for- 
ward before  the  other  trees,  and  spreading  its  branches  to 
the  way-side. 

2.  To  the  right,  was  a  little  rivulet,  gurgling  along  the 
deep  bed  it  had  worn  for  itself  among  the  short  grass,  in  its 
way  towards  a  considerable  river,  that  flowed  through  the 
valley,  at  about  two  miles'  distance ;  and,  on  the  left,  the  eye 
might  range  far  amid  the  tall,  separate  trees,  —  now,  per- 
haps, lighting  upon  a  stag  at  gaze,  or  a  fallow  deer  tripping 
away  over  the  dewy  ground  as  light  and  gracefully  as  a 
lady  in  a  ball-room,  till  sight  became  lost  in  the  green  shade 
and  the  dim  wilderness  of  leaves  and  branches. 

3.  Amid  the  scattered  oaks  in  advance  of  the  wood,  and 
nestled  into  the  dry  nooks  of  the  sand-pits,  appeared  about 
half  a  dozen  dirty,  brown  shreds  of  canvass,  none  of  which 
seemed  larger  than  a  dinner  napkin,  yet  which,  spread  over 
hoops,  cross  sticks,  and  other  contrivances,  served  as  habi- 
tations to  six  or  seven  families,  of  that  wild  and  dingy  race, 
whose  existence  and  history  are  a  phenomenon,  not  among 
the  least  strange  of  all  the  wonderful  things  that  we  pass 
by  daily  without  investigation  or  inquiry. 

4.  At  the  mouths  of  one  or  two  of  these  little  dwelling- 
places,  might  be  seen  some  Gypsy  women,  with  their  pecu- 
liar straw  bonnets^  red  cloaks,  and  silk  handkerchiefs;  some, 


'  A  GYPSY  ENCAMPMENT.  183 

withered,  shrunk,  and  witch-like,  bore  evidently  the  traces 
of  long  years  of  wandering,  exposure,  and  vicissitude;  while 
others,  with  the  warm  rose  of  youth  and  health  glowing 
through  the  golden  brown  of  their  skins,  and  their  dark, 
gem-like  eyes,  flashing,  undimmed  by  sorrow  or  infirmity, 
gave  the  beau  ideal  of  a  beautiful  nation,  long  passed 
away  from  thrones  and  dignities,  and  left  but  as  the  frag- 
ments of  a  wreck,  dashed  to  atoms  by  the  waves  of  the  past 

5.  At  one  point,  amid  white-wood  ashes,  and  many  an 
unlawful  feather  from  the  plundered  cock  and  violated  tur- 
key, sparkled  a  fire  and  boiled  a  caldron ;  and,  round 
about  the  ancient  beldame  who  presided  over  the  pot,  were 
placed,  in  various  easy  attitudes,  several  of  the  male  mem- 
bers of  the  tribe,  mostly  covered  with  long,  loose  great- 
coats, which  bespoke  the  owners  either  changed  or  shrunk. 
A  number  of  half-naked  brats,  engaged  in  many  a  sport, 
filled  up  the  scene,  and  promised  a  sturdy  and  increasing 
race  of  rogues  and  vagabonds  for  after  years. 

6.  Over  the  whole,  —  wood,  and  road,  and  stream,  and 
Gypsy  encampment,  —  was  pouring,  in  full  stream,  the  pur- 
ple light  of  evening,  with  the  long  shadows  stretching 
across,  and  marking  the  distances  all  the  way  up  the  slope 
of  the  hill.  Where  an  undulation  of  the  ground,  about 
half  way  up  the  ascent,  gave  a  wider  space  of  light  than 
ordinary,  were  seen  two  strangers,  riding  slowly  down  the 
road,  whose  appearance  soon  called  the  eyes  of  the  Gypsy 
fraternity  upon  their  movements ;  for  the  laws  in  regard  to 
vagabondism  had  lately  been  strained  somewhat  hard,  es- 
pecially in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  the  natural  conse- 
quence was,  that  the  Gypsy  and  the  beggar  looked  upon 
almost  every  human  thing  as  an  enemy. 

7.  As  the  travellers  rode  on,  the  Gypsy  men,  without 
moving  from  the  places  they  had  before  occupied,  eyed  them 
from  under  their  bent  brows,  affecting,  withal,  hardly  to  see 
them,  while  the  urchins  ran  like  young  apes,  by  the  side  of 
their  horses,  performing  all  sorts  of  antics,  and  begging 
hard  for  halfpence ;  and,  at  length,  a  girl  of  about  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  notwithstanding  some  forcible  injunctions  to  for- 
bear on  the  part  of  the  old  woman  who  was  tending 
the  caldron,  sprang  up  the  bank,  beseeching  the  gen- 
tlemen, in  the  usual  singsong  of  her  tribe,  to  cross  her 
hand  with  silver,  and  have  their  fortunes  told ;  promising 


184  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

them  at  the  same  time  a  golden  future,  and,  like  Launcelot, 
*'  a  pretty  trifle  of  wives." 

8.  In  regard  to  her  chiromantic  science,  the  gentlemen 
were  obdurate,  though  each  of  them  gave  her  one  of  those 
flat,  polished  pieces  of  silver,  which  were  sixpences  in  our 
young  days ;  and  having  done  this,  they  rode  on,  turning 
for  a  moment  or  two  their  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the 
Gypsies  they  had  just  passed,  moralizing  deeply  on  their 
strange  history  and  wayward  fate,  and  wondering  that  no 
philanthropic  government  had  ever  attempted  to  give  them  a 
"  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  among  the  sons  and  daugh- 
ters of  honest  industry. 

9.  In  the  mean  time,  the  Gypsies  drew  round  their  fire, 
and,  scouts  being  thrown  out  on  either  side  to  guard  against 
interruption,  the  pot  was  unswung  from  the  cross-bars  that 
sustained  it,  trenchers  and  knives  were  produced,  and,  with 
nature's  green  robe  for  a  table-cloth,  a  plentiful  supper  of 
manifold  good  things  was  spread  before  the  race  of  wander- 
ers. 

10.  Nor  was  the  meal  unjoyous,  nor  were  their  figures,  — 
at  all  times  picturesque,  —  without  an  appearance  of  loftier 
beauty,  and  more  symmetrical  grace,  as,  with  the  fire  and  the 
evening  twilight  casting  strange  lights  upon  them,  they  fell 
into  those  free  and  easy  attitudes,  which  none  but  the  chil- 
dren of  wild  activity  can  assume.  The  women  of  the  par- 
ty had  all  come  forth  from  their  huts,  and  among  them 
were  two  or  three  lovely  creatures  as  any  race  ever  produc- 
ed, from  the  chosen  Hebrew  to  the  beauty-dreaming  Greek. 

11.  In  truth,  there  seemed  more  wona^n  than  men  of  the 
tribe,  and  there  certainly  were  more  children  than  either ; 
but  due  subordination  was  not  wanting ;  and  the  urchins, 
who  were  ranged  behind  the  backs  of  the  rest,  though  they 
wanted  not  sufficient  food,  intruded  not  upon  the  circle  of 
their  elders. 

12.  The  language  which  the  Gypsies  spoke  among  them- 
selves was  a  barbarous  compound  of  some  foreign  tongue, 
the  origin  and  structure  of  which  have,  and  most  likely 
ever  will,  baffle  inquiry,  and  of  English,  mingled  with  many 
a  choice  phrase  from  the  very  expressive  language  called 
jargon. 


ELOQUENCE  OF  PATRICK  HENRY.  185 


LESSON  LXXXVII.     Eloquence  and  Humor  of  Patrick 
Henry. 

Patrick  Henry  was  a  distinguished  orator  and  patriot  of  Virginia,, 
who  lent  his  powerful  influence  to  the  cause  of  the  Revolution. 

1.  Hook  was  a  Scotchman,  a  man  of  wealth,  and  sus- 
pected of  being  unfriendly  to  the  American  cause.  During 
the  distresses  of  the  American  army,  consequent  on  the  joint 
invasion  of  Cornwallis  and  Phillips,  in  1781,  a  Mr.  Vena- 
ble,  an  army  commissary,  had  taken  two  of  Hook's  steers 
for  the  use  of  the  troops.  The  act  had  not  been  strictly  le- 
gal ;  and,  on  the  establishment  of  peace,  Hook,  on  the  ad- 
vice of  Mr.  Cowan,  a  gentleman  of  some  distinction  in  the 
law,  thought  pfoper  to  bring  an  action  of  trespass  against 
Mr.  Venable,  in  the  District  Court  of  New  London. 

2.  Mr.  Henry  appeared  for  the  defendant,  and  is  said  to 
have  disported  himself  in  this  cause  to  the  infinite  enjoy- 
ment of  his  hearers,  the  unfortunate  Hook  always  excepted. 
After  Mr.  Henry  became  animated  in  the  cause,  says  a  cor- 
respondent, he  appeared  to  have  complete  control  over  the 
passions  of  his  audience;  at  one  time  he  excited  their  indig- 
nation against  Hook;  vengeance  was  visible  in  every  coun- 
tenance ;  again,  when  he  chose  to  relax,  and  ridicule  him, 
the  whole  audience  was  in  a  roar  of  laughter. 

3.  He  painted  the  distressesof  the  American  army,  expos- 
ed, almost  naked,  to  the  rigors  of  a  winter's  sky,  and  mark- 
ing the  frozen  ground  over  which  they  trod  with  the  blood 
of  their  unshod  feet.  *'  Where  is  the  man,"  he  said,  "  who 
has  an  American  heart  in  his  bosom,  who  would  not  have 
thrown  open  his  fields,  his  barns,  his  cellars,  the  doors  of  his 
house,  the  portals  of  his  breast,  to  have  received  with  open 
arms  the  meanest  soldier  in  that  little  band  of  famished  pa- 
triots ?  Where  is  the  man  ?  There  he  stands,  —  but  wheth- 
er the  heart  of  an  American  beats  in  his  bosom,  you,  Gen^ 
tlemen,  are  to  judge." 

4.  He  then  carried  the  jury,  by  the  powers  of  his  imagina- 
tion, to  the  plains  around  York,  the  surrender  of  which  had 
followed  shortly  after  the  act  complained  of;  he  depicted  the 
surrender  in  the  most  glowing  and  noble  colors  of  his  elo- 
quence ;  —  the  audience  saw  before  their  eyes  the  humilia- 
tion and  dejection  of  the  British,  as  they  marched  out  of 

16* 


186  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

their  trenches ;  —  they  saw  the  triumph  which  lighted  up 
every  patriot  face,  and  heard  the  shouts  of  victory,  and  the 
cry  of  **  Washington  and  Liberty,"  as  it  rung  and  echoed 
through  the  American  ranks,  and  was  reverberated  from  the 
hills  and  shores  of  the  neighboring  river.  "  But  hark ! 
what  notes  of  discord  are  those  which  disturb  the  general 
joy,  and  silence  the  acclamation  of  victory?  They  are  the 
notes  of  John  Hook,  hoarsely  bawling  through  the  Ameri- 
can camp,  Beef!  beef!  beef!  " 

5.  The  whole  audience  were  convulsed;  a  particular  in- 
cident will  give  a  better  idea  of  the  effect  than  any  general 
description.  The  clerk  of  the  court,  unable  to  command 
himself,  and  unwilling  to  commit  any  breach  of  decorum  in 
his  place,  rushed  out  of  the  court-house,  and  threw  himself 
on  the  grass,  in  the  most  violent  paroxysm  of  laughter,  where 
he  was  rolling,  when  Hook,  with  very  different  feelings, 
came  out  for  relief  into  the  yard  also.  ''Jemmy  Step- 
toe,"  said  he  to  the  clerk,  "what  the  devil  ails  ye,  mon?" 
Mr.  Steptoe  was  only  able  to  say,  that  he  could  not  help  it. 
"Never  mind  ye,"  said  Hook  ;  "  wait  till  Billy  Cowan  gets 
up  ;  he  '11  show  him  the  law ! " 

6.  Mr.  Cowan,  however,  was  so  completely  overwhelmed 
by  the  torrent  which  bore  upon  his  client,  that,  when 
he  rose  to  reply  to  Mr.  Henry,  he  was  scarcely  able  to 
make  an  intelligent  or  audible  remark.  The  cause  was 
decided  almost  by  acclamation.  The  jury  retired  for 
form's  sake,  and  instantly  returned  with  a  verdict  for  the 
defendant.  Nor  did  the  effect  of  Mr.  Henry's  speech  stop 
here.  The  people  were  so  highly  excited  by  the  Tory  auda- 
city of  such  a  suit,  that  Hook  began  to  hear  around  him  a 
cry  more  terrible  than  that  of  beef;  it  was  the  cry  of  tar 
and  feathers;  from  the  application  of  which,  it  is  said,  that 
nothing  saved  him  but  a  precipitate  flight  and  the  speed  of 
his  horse. 


LESSON   LXXXVni.      The   An^el  of  the  Leaves;   an 
Allegory. 

1.  "  Alas  !  alas!  "  said  the  sorrowing  Tree,  "  my  beauti- 
ful robe  is  gone !     It  has  been  torn  from  me.     Its  faded 


THE    ANGEL    OF    THE   LEAVES.  187 

pieces  whirl  upon  the  wind ;  they  rustle  beneath  the  squir- 
rel's foot,  as  he  searches  for  his  nut.  They  float  upon  the 
passing  stream,  and  on  the  quivering  lake.  Woe  is  me !  for 
my  fair,  green  vesture  is  gone.  It  was  the  gift  of  the  Angel 
of  the  Leaves  !  I  have  lost  it,  and  my  glory  has  vanished  ; 
my  beauty  has  disappeared.  My  summer  hours  have  passed 
away.  My  bright  and  comely  garment,  alas !  it  is  rent  in  a 
thousand  parts. 

2.  "  Who  will  weave  me  such  another  ?  Piece  by  piece, 
it  has  been  stripped  from  me.  Scarcely  did  I  sigh  for  the 
loss  of  one,  ere  another  wandered  off  on  the  air.  The 
sound  of  music  cheers  no  more.  The  birds  that  sang  in  my 
bosom  were  dismayed  at  my  desolation.  They  have  flown 
away  with  their  songs. 

3.  "I  stood  in  my  pride.  The  sun  brightened  my  robe 
with  his  smile.  The  zephyrs  breathed  softly  through  its 
glossy  folds ;  the  clouds  strewed  pearls  among  them.  My 
shadow  was  wide  upon  the  earth.  My  arms  spread  far  on 
the  gentle  air :  my  head  was  lifted  high  ;  my  forehead  was 
fair  to  the  heavens.  But  now,  how  changed  !  Sadness  is 
upon  me ;  my  head  is  shorn,  my  arms  are  stripped ;  I  can- 
not now  throw  a  shadow  on  the  ground.  Beauty  has  de- 
parted ;  gladness  is  gone  out  of  my  bosom ;  the  blood  has 
retired  from  my  heart,  it  has  sunk  into  the  earth. 

4.  "  I  am  thirsty,  I  am  cold.  My  naked  limbs  shiver  in  the 
chilly  air.  The  keen  blast  comes  pitiless  among  them.  The 
winter  is  coming ;  I  am  destitute.  Sorrow  is  4iiy  portion. 
Mourning  must  wear  me  away.  How  shall  I  account  to  the 
Angel  who  clothed  me,  for  the  loss  of  his  beautiful  gift?" 

5.  The  Angel  had  been  listening.  In  soothing  accents 
he  answered  the  lamentation.  *'  My  beloved  Tree,"  said  he, 
"  be  comforted.  I  am  with  thee  still,  though  every  leaf  has 
forsaken  thee.  The  voice  of  gladness  is  hushed  among  thy 
boughs,  but  let  my  whisper  console  thee.  Thy  sorrow  is 
but  for  a  season.  Trust  in  me ;  keep  my  promise  in  thy 
heart.  Be  patient  and  full  of  hope.  Let  the  words  I  leave 
with  thee,  abide  and  cheer  thee  through  the  coming  winter. 
Then  I  will  return  and  clothe  thee  anew. 

,     6.   "The  storm  will  drive  over  thee,  the  snow  will  sift 
if  through  thy  naked  limbs.     But  these  will  be  light  and  pass- 
ing afflictions.     The  ice  will  weigh  heavily  on  thy  helpless 
arms :  but  it  shall  soon  dissolve  into  tears.     It  shall  pass 


188  THE   FOURTH   REAt)£R. 

into  the  ground,  and  be  drunken  by  thy  roots.  Then  it  will 
creep  up  in  secret  beneath  thy  bark.  It  will  spread  into 
the  branches  it  has  oppressed,  and  help  me  to  adorn  them; 
for  I  shall  be  here  to  use  it. 

7.  **  Thy  blood  has  now  only  retired  for  safety.  The  frost 
would  chill  and  destroy  it.  It  has  gone  into  thy  mother's 
bosom  for  her  to  keep  it  warm.  Earth  will  not  rob  her  off- 
spring. She  is  a  careful  parent.  She  knows  the  wants  of  all 
her  children,  and  forgets  not  to  provide  for  the  least  oftliem. 

8.  "  The  sap,  that  has  for  a  while  gone  down,  will  make 
thy  roots  strike  deeper  and  spread  wider.  It  will  then  re- 
turn to  nourish  thy  heart.  It  will  be  renewed  and  strength- 
ened. Then,  if  thou  shalt  have  remembered  and  trusted 
in  my  promise,  I  will  fulfil  it.  Buds  shall  shoot  forth  on 
every  side  of  thy  boughs.  I  will  unfold  for  thee  another 
robe.  I  will  paint  it  and  fit  it  in  every  part.  It  shall  be  a 
comely  raiment.  Thou  shalt  forget  thy  present  sorrow. 
Sadness  shall  be  swallowed  up  in  joy.  Now,  my  beloved 
Tree,  fare  thee  well  for  a  season." 

9.  The  Angel  was  gone.  The  muttering  winter  drevr 
near.  The  wild  blast  whistled  for  the  storm.  The  storm 
came  and  howled  around  the  tree.  But  the  word  of  the 
Angel  was  hidden  in  her  heart;  it  soothed  her  amid  the 
threatenings  of  the  tempest.  The  ice-cakes  rattled  upon 
her  limbs;  they  loaded  and  weighed  them  down.  "My 
slender  branches,"  said  she,  "  let  not  this  burden  overcome 
you.  Bflak  not  beneath  this  heavy  affliction  ;  break  not, 
but  bend,  till  you  can  spring  back  to  your  places.  Let  not 
a  twig  of  you  be  lost.  Hope  must  prop  you  for  a  while,  and 
the  Angel  will  reward  your  patience.  You  will  move  upon 
a  softer  air.  Grace  shall  be  again  in  your  motion,  and  beau- 
ty hansfing  around  you." 

10.  The  scowling  face  of  winter  began  to  lose  its  fea- 
tures. The  raging  storm  grew  faint,  and  breathed  its  last. 
The  restless  clouds  fretted  themselves  to  atoms ;  they  scat- 
tered upon  the  sky  and  were  brushed  away.  The  sun  threw 
down  a  bundle  of  golden  arrows.  They  fell  upon  the  tree ; 
the  ice-cakes  glittered  as  they  came.  Every  one  was  shat- 
tered by  a  shaft,  and  unlocked  itself  upon  the  limb.  They 
were  melted  and  gone. 

11.  The  reign  of  Spring  had  come.  Her  blessed  minis- 
ters were  abroad  in  the  earth;  they  hovered  in  the  air; 


SELF-CULTIVATION  189 

they  blended  their  beautiful  tints,  and  cast  a  new-created 
glory  on  the  face  of  the  heavens. 

12.  The  tree  was  rewarded  for  her  trust.  The  Angel  was 
true  to  the  object  of  his  love.  He  returned ;  he  bestowed 
on  her  another  robe.  It  was  bright,  glossy,  and  unsul- 
lied. The  dust  of  summer  had  never  lit  upon  it ;  the 
scorching  heat  had  not  faded  it;  the  moth  had  not  pro- 
faned it.  The  Tree  stood  again  in  loveliness;  she  was 
dressed  in  more  than  her  former  beauty  ;  she  was  very  fair  ; 
joy  smiled  around  her  on  every  side.  The  birds  flew  back 
to  her  bosom.  They  sang  on  every  branch  a  hymn  to  the 
Angel  of  the  Leaves. 


LESSON  LXXXIX.     Self- Cultivation. 

1.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose,  that  it  is  necessary  to 
be  a  professional  man  in  order  to  have  leisure  to  indulge  a 
taste  for  reading.  Far  otherwise.  I  believe  the  mechanic,  the 
engineer,  the  husbandman,  the  trader,  have  quite  as  much 
leisure  as  the  average  of  m0n  in  the  learned  professions.  I 
know  some  men  busily  engaged  in  these  different  callings  of 
active  life,  whose  minds  are  well  stored  with  various  useful 
knowledge  acquired  from  books.  It  is  surprising  how  much 
may  be  effected,  even  under  the  most  unfavorable  circum- 
stances, for  the  improvement  of  the  mind,  by  a  person  reso- 
lutely bent  on  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  A  letter  has 
lately  been  put  into  my  hands,  so  interesting  in  itself,  and  so 
strongly  illustrative  of  this  point,  that  I  will  read  a  portion 
of  it ;  though  it  was  written  without  the  least  view  to  pub- 
licity. 

2.  "  I  was  the  youngest,"  says  the  writer,  "  of  many  breth- 
ren, and  my  parents  were  poor.  My  means  of  education 
were  limited  to  the  advantages  of  a  district  school,  and  those 
again  were  circumscribed  by  my  father's  death,  which  de- 
prived me,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  of  those  scanty  opportunities 
which  I  had  previously  enjoyed. 

3.  "A  few  months  after  his  decease,  I  apprenticed  my- 
self to  a  blacksmith  in  my  native  village.  Thither  I  carried 
an  indomitable  taste  for  reading,  which  I  had  previously  ac- 
quired through  the  medium  of  the  Society  library,  —  all  the 


190  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

historical  works  in  which  I  had  at  that  time  perused.  At 
the  expiration  of  a  little  more  than  half  my  apprenticeship, 
I  suddenly  conceived  the  idea  of  studying  Latin. 

4.  "  Through  the  assistance  of  an  elder  brother,  who  had 
himself  obtained  a  collegiate  education  by  his  own  exertions, 
I  completed  my  Virgil  during  the  evenings  of  one  winter. 
After  some  time  de'vofed  to  Cicero,  and  a  few  other  Latin 
author*,  I  commenced  the  Greek ;  at  this  time  it  was  neces- 
sary'that  I  should  devote  every  hour  of  daylight,  and  a  part 
of  the  evening,  to  the  duties  of  my  apprenticeship. 

5.  "  Still  I  carried  my  Greek  grammar  in  my  hat,  often 
found  a  moment,  when  1  was  heating  some  large  iron,  when 
1  could  place  my  book  open  before  me  against  the  chimney 
of  my  forge,  and  go  through  with  tupto,  tuptcis,  tuptei,  un- 
perceived  by  my  fellow  apprentices.  At  evening  I  sat  down 
unassisted,  to  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  twenty  books  of  which 
measured  my  progress  in  that  language  during  the  evenings 
of  another  winter. 

6.  *'  I  next  turned  to  the  modern  languages,  and  was 
much  gratified  to  learn  that  my  knowledge  of  Latin  furnish- 
ed me  with  a  key  to  the  literature  of  most  of  the  languages 
of  Europe.  This  circumstance  gave  a  new  impulse  to  the 
desire  of  acquainting  myself  with  the  philosophy,  derivation, 
and  affinity  of  the  different  European  tongues.  I  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  limit  myself  in  these  investigations  to  a 
few  hours  after  the  arduous  labors  of  the  day. 

7.  "  I  therefore  laid  down  my  hammer  and  went  to  New 
Haven,  where  I  recited  to  native  teachers  in  French,  Span- 
ish,. German,  and  Italian.  I  returned  at  the  expiration  of 
two  years  to  the  forge,  bringing  with  me  such  books  in  those 
languages  as  I  could  procure.  When  I  had  read  these  books 
through,  I  commenced  the  Hebrew,  with  an  awakened  de- 
sire of  examining  another  field ;  and,  by  assiduous  applica- 
tion, I  was  enabled  in  a  few  weeks  to  read  this  language 
with  such  facility,  that  I  allotted  it  to  myself  as  a  task  to 
read  two  chapters  in  the  Hebrew  Bible  before  breakfast, 
each  morning ;  this  and  an  hour  at  noon  being  all  the  time 
that  I  could  devote  to  myself  during  the  day. 

8.  "  After  becoming  somewhat  familiar  with  this  language, 
I  looked  around  me  for  the  means  of  initiating  myself  into 
the  fields  of  Oriental  literature  ;  and  to  my  deep  regret  and 
concern,  I  found  my  progress  in  this  direction  hedged  in  by 


SABBATH  THOUGHTS*  1^1 

the  want  of  requisite  books.  I  began  immediately  to  devise 
means  of  obviating  this  obstacle ;  and,  after  many  plans,  I 
concluded  to  seek  a  place  as  a  sailor  on  board  some  ship 
bound  to  Europe,  thinking  in  this  way  to  have  oppoitunities 
of  collecting,  at  different  ports,  such  works  in  the  modern 
and  Oriental  languages  as  I  found  necessary  for  this  ob- 
ject. I  left  the  forge  at  my  native  place  to  carry  this  plan 
into  execution. 

9.  "  I  travelled  on  foot  to  Boston,  a  distance  of  more  than 
a  hundred  miles,  to  find  some  vessel  bound  to  Europe.  In 
this  I  was  disappointed ;  and  while  revolving  in  my  mind 
what  steps  next  to  take,  I  accidentally  heard  of  the  Ameri- 
can Antiquarian  Society  at  Worcester.  I  immediately  bent 
my  steps  toward  this  place.  I  visited  the  hall  of  the  Amer- 
ican Antiquarian  Society,  and  found  there,  to  my  infinite 
gratification,  such  a  collection  in  ancient,  modern,  and  Ori- 
ental languages,  as  I  never  before  conceived  to  be  collected 
in  one  place ;  and.  Sir,  you  may  imagine  with  what  senti- 
ments of  gratitude  I  was  affected,  when,  upon  evincing  a 
desire  to  examine  some  of  these  rich  and  rare  works,  I  was 
kindly  invited  to  unlimited  participation  in  all  the  benefits 
of  this  noble  institution. 

10.  "  Availing  myself  of  the  kindness  of  the  directors,  I 
spent  three  hours  daily  at  the  hall,  which,  with  an  hour  at 
noon,  and  about  three  in  the  evening,  n\ake  up  the  portion 
of  the  day  which  I  appropriate  to  my  studies,  the  rest  being 
occupied  in  arduous  manual  labor.  Through  the  facilities 
afforded  by  this  institution,  I  have  added  so  much  to  my 
previous  acquaintance  with  the  ancient,  modern,  and  Orien- 
tal Languages,  as  to  be  able  to  read  upwards  of  fifty  of 
them  with  more  or  less  facility." 


LESSON  XC.     Sabbath  Thougts. 

1.  Dear  is  the  hallowed  morn  to  me, 
When  village  bells  awake  the  day ; 
And,  by  their  sacred  minstrelsy. 
Call  me  from  earthly  cares  away. 


192  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

2.  And  dear  to  me  the  winged  hour, 

Spent  in  thy  hallowed  courts,  O  Lord ! 
To  feel  devotion's  soothing  power, 
And  catch  the  manna  of  thy  word. 

3.  And  dear  to  me  the  loud  Amen, 

Which  echoes  through  the  blest  abode, 
Which  swells  and  sinks,  and  swells  again, 
Dies  on  the  walls,  but  lives  to  God. 

4.  And  dear  the  rustic  harmony, 

Sung  with  the  pomp  of  village  art , 
That  holy,  heavenly  melody, 
The  music  of  a  thankful  heart. 

6.  In  secret  I  have  often  prayed, 

And  still  the  anxious  tear  would  fall ; 
But  on  thy  sacred  altar  laid. 

The  fire  descends,  and  dries  them  all. 

6.  Oft  when  the  world,  with  iron  hands. 

Has  bound  me  in  its  six-days'  chain, 
This  bursts  them,  like  the  strong  man's  bands, 
And  lets  my  spirit  loose  again. 

7.  Then  dear  to  me  the  Sabbath  morn  ; 

The  village  bells,  the  shepherd's  voice  ; 
These  oft  have  found  my  heart  forlorn. 
And  always  bid  that  heart  rejoice. 

8.  Go,  man  of  pleasure,  strike  thy  lyre. 

Of  broken  sabbaths  sing  the  charms ; 
Ours  be  the  prophet's  car  of  fire, 
That  bears  us  to  a  Father's  arms. 


LESSON  XCL     The  Sea. 

1.  "  The  sea  is  his,  and  he  made  it,"  cries  the  Psalmist 
of  Israel,  in  one  of  those  bursts  of  devotion,  in  which  he 
so  often  expresses  the  whole  of  a  vast  subject  by  a  few  sim- 


.  THE    SEA.  193 

pie  words.  Whose  else,  indeed,  could  it  be,  and  by  whom 
else  could  it  have  been  made?  Who  else  can  heave  its  tides, 
and  appoint  its  bounds?  Who  else  can  urge  its  mighty 
waves  to  madness  with  the  breath  and  the  wings  of  the 
tempest,  and  then  speak  to  it  again  with  a  master's  accents, 
and  bid  it  be  still  ? 

2.  Who  else  could  have  poured  out  its  magnificent  full- 
ness round  the  solid  land,  and 

"Laid,  as  in  a  storehouse  safe,  its  watery  treasures  by?" 

Who  else  could  have  peopled  it  with  its  countless  inhabit- 
ants, and  caused  it  to  bring  forth  its  various  productions,  and 
filled  it  from  its  deepest  bed  to  its  expanded  surface ;  filled 
it  from  its  centre  to  its  remotest  shores  j^  filleii  it  to  the  brim, 
with  beauty,  and  mystery,  and  power?  Majestic  ocean! 
Glorious  sea!  No  created  being  rules  thee,  or  made  thee. 
Thou  hearest  but  one  voice,  and  that  is  the  Lord's;  thou 
obeyest  but  one  arm,  and  that  is  the  Almighty's.  The  own- 
ership and  the  workmanship  are  God's ;  thou  art  his,  and 
he  made  thee. 

3.  "  The  sea  is  his,  and  he  made  it."  It  bears  the  strong 
impress  of  his  greatness,  his  wisdom,  and  his  love.  It 
speaks  to  us  of  God,  with  the  voice  of  all  its  waters ;  it  may 
lead  us  to  God  by  all  the  influences  of  its  nature.  How 
then  can  we  be  otherwise  than  profitably  employed,  while 
we  are  looking  on  this  broad  and  bright  mirror  of  the  Deity  ? 
The  Sacred  Scriptures  are  full  of  references  to  it,  and  itself 
is  full  of  religion  and  God. 

4.  "  The  sea  is  his  and  he  made  it."  Its  majesty  is  of 
God.  What  is  there  more  sublime  than  the  trackless,  desert, 
all-surrounding,  unfathomable  sea?  What  is  there  more 
peacefully  sublime  than  the  calm,  gently-heaving,  silent  sea. 
What  is  there  more  terribly  sublime  than  the  angry,  dash- 
ing, foaming  sea.  Power,  resistless,  overwhelming  power,  is 
its  attribute  and  its  expression,  whether  in  the  careless, 
conscious  grandeur  of  its  deep  rest,  or  the  wild  tumult  of 
its  excited  wrath. 

5.  It-i«.aHdul,  when  its  crested  waves  rise  up  to  make  a 
compact  with  the  black  clouds,  and  the  howling  winds,  and 
the  thunder,  and  the  thunder-bolt,  and  they  sweep  on  in  the 
joy  of  their  dread  alliance,  to  do  the  Almighty's  bidding. 
And  it  is  awful,  too,  when  it  stretches  its  broad  level  out,  to 

17 


194  THE   FOURTH   READER. 

meet  in  quiet  union  the  bended  sky,  and  show,  in  the  line 
of  meeting,  the  vast  rotundity  of  the  world. 

6.  There  is  majesty  in  its^wide  expanse,  separating  and 
enclosing  the  great  conjtinenTs  of  the  earth,  occupying  two 
thirds  of  the  whole  surface  of  the  globe,  penetrating  the 
land  with  its  bays  and  secondary  seas,  and  receding  the  con- 
stantly pouring  tribute  of  every  river,  of  every  shore. 
There  is  majesty  in  its  fulness,  %ev:er  diminishing  and  never 
increasing. 

7.  There  is  majesty  in  its  integrity,  for  its  whole  vast 
substance  is  uniform  ;  in  its  local  unity,  for  there  is  but  one 
ocean,  and  the  inhabitants  of  any  one  maritime  spot  may  visit 
the  inhabitants  of  any  other  in  the  wide  world.  Its  depth 
is  sublime;  who  can  sound  it?  Its  strength  is  sublime; 
what  fabric  of  man  can  resist  it  ? 

8.  Its  voice  is  sublime,  whether  in  the  prolonged  song  of 
its  ripple  or  the  stern  music  of  its  roar  ;  whether  it  utters  its 
hollow  and  melancholy  tones,  within  a  labyrinth  of  wave- 
worn  caves ;  or  thunders  at  the  base  of  some  huge  promon- 
tory ;  or  beats  against  a  toiling  vessel's  sides,  lulling  the 
voyager  to  rest  with  the  strains  of  its  wild  monotony;  or 
dies  away,  with  the  calm  and  dying  twilight,  in  gentle  mur- 
murs on  some  sheltered  shore. 

9.  What  sight  is  there  more  magnificent  than  the  quiet  or 
the  stormy  sea.  What  music  is  there,  however  artful,  which 
can  vie  with  the  natural  and  changeful  melodies  of  the  re- 
sounding sea  ? 

10.  **  The  sea  is  his  and  he  made  it."  Its  beauty  is  of 
God.  It  possesses  it  in  richness  of  its  own  ;  it  borrows  it 
of  earth,  and  air,  and  heaven.  The  clouds  lend  it  the  vari- 
ous dyes  of  their  wardrobe,  and  throw  down  upon  it  the 
broad  masses  of  their  shadows,  as  they  go  sailing  and  sweep- 
ing by.  The  rainbow  laves  in  it  its  many-colored  feet ;  the 
sun  loves  to  visit  it,  and  the  moon  and  the  glittering  broth- 
erhood of  planets  and  stars ;  for  they  delight  themselves  in 
its  beauty. 

11.  The  sunbeams  return  from  it  in  showers  of  diamonds 
and  glances  of  fire  ;  the  moonbeams  find  in  it  a  pathway  of 
silver,  where  they  dance  to  and  fro,  with  the  breeze  and  the 
waves,  through  the  livelong  night.  It  has  a  light,  too,  of  its 
own,  a  soft  and  sparkling  light, rivalling  the  stars;  and  often 
does  the  ship,  which  cuts  its  surface,  leave  streaming  behind 


THE    SEA.  195 

a  milky  way  of  dim  and  uncertain  lustre,  like  that  which  is 
shining  dimly  above. 

12.  It  harmonizes  in  its  forms  and  sounds,  both  with  the 
night  and  the  day.  It  cheerfully  reflects  the  light,  and  it 
unites  solemnly  with  the  darkness.  It  imparts  sweetness  to 
the  music  of  men,  and  grandeur  to  the  thunder  of  heaven. 
What  landscape  is  so  beautiful  as  one  upon  the  borders  of 
the  sea?  The  spirit  of  its  loveliness  is  from  the  waters, 
where  it  dwells  and  rests,  singing  its  spells,  and  scattering 
its  charms  on  all  the  coast. 

13.  What  rocks  and  cliffs  are  so  glorious,  as  those  which 
are  washed  by  the  chafing  sea  ?  What  groves,  and  fields,  and 
dwellings  are  so  enchanting,  as  those  which  stand  by  the  re- 
flecting sea  ?  If  we  could  see  the  great  ocean  as  it  can  be 
seen  by  no  mortal  eye,  beholding  at  one  view  what  we  are 
now  obliged  to  visit  in  detail,  and  spot  by  spot  ;  if  we  could, 
from  a  flight  far  higher  than  the  sea-eagle's,  and  with  a  sight 
more  keen  and  comprehensive  than  his,  view  the  immense 
surface  of  the  deep,  all  spread  out  beneath  us  like  a  uni- 
versal chart,  what  an  infinite  variety  such  a  scene  would 
display ! 

14.  Here,  a  storm  would  be  raging,  the  thunder  bursting, 
the  waters  boiling,  and  rain  and  foam  and  fire  all  mingling 
together  ;  and  here,  next  to  this  scene  of  magnificent  confu- 
sion, we  should  see  the  bright  blue  waves  glittering  in  the 
sun,  and,  while  the  brisk  breezes  flew  over  them,  clapping 
their  hands  for  very  gladness,  —  for  they  do  clap  their  hands, 
and  justify,  by  the  life  and  almost  individual  animation  which 
they  exhibit,  that  remarkable  figure  of  the  Psalmist. 

15.  Here,  again,  on  this  self-same  ocean,  we  should  be- 
hold large  tracts,  where  there  was  neither  tempest  nor 
breeze,  but  a  dead  calm,  breathless,  noiseless,  and,  were  it 
not  for  the  swell  of  the  sea,  which  never  rests,  motionless. 
Here,  we  should  see  a  cluster  of  green  islands,  set  like  jew- 
els in  the  midst  of  its  bosom  ;  and  there,  we  should  see  the 
broad  shoals  and  gray  rocks,  fretting  the  billows,  and  threat- 
ening the  mariner. 

16.  "  There  go  the  ships,"  the  white-robed  ships  ;  some 
on  this  course,  and  others  on  the  opposite  one;  some  just 
approaching  the  shore,  and  some  just  leaving  it;  some  in 
fleets,  and  others  in  solitude ;  some  swinging  lazily  in  a 
calra,  and  some  driven  and  tossed,  and  perhaps  overwhelmed 


]96  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

by  the  storm ;  some  for  traffic,  and  some  for  state ;  some  in 
peace,  and  others,  alas !  in  war. 

17.  Let  us  follow  one,  and  we  should  see  it  propelled  by 
the  steady  wind  of  the  tropics,  and  inhaling  the  almost  visi- 
ble odors  which  diffuse  themselves  around  the  spice  islands 
of  the  East ;  let  us  observe  the  track  of  another,  and  we 
should  behold  it  piercing  the  cold  barriers  of  the  North, 
struggling  among  hills  and  fields  of  ice,  contending  with 
winter  in  his  own  everlasting  dominion,  striving  to  touch 
that  unattained,  solemn,  hermit  point  of  the  globe,  where 
ships  may  perhaps  never  visit,  and  where  the  foot  of  man, 
all  daring  and  indefatigable  as  it  is,  may  never  tread. 

18.  Nor  are  the  ships  of  man  the  only  travellers  whom 
we  shall  perceive  on  this  mighty  map  of  the  ocean.  Flocks 
of  sea-birds  are  passing  and  repassing,  diving  for  their  food, 
or  for  pastime,  migrating  from  shore  to  shore  with  unwearied 
wing  and  undeviating  instinct,  or  wheeling  and  swarming 
round  the  rocks,  which  they  make  alive  and  vocal  by  their 
numbers  and  their  clanging  cries. 

19.  How  various,  how  animated,  how  full  of  interest  is 
the  survey  !  We  might  behold  such  a  scene,  were  we  ena- 
bled to  behold  it,  at  almost  any  moment  of  time  on  the  vast 
and  varied  ocean ;  and  it  would  be  a  much  more  diversified 
and  beautiful  one,  for  I  have  spoken  but  of  a  few  particu- 
lars, and  of  those  but  slightly. 

20.  I  have  not  spoken  of  the  thousand  forms  in  which  the 
sea  meets  the  shore,  of  the  sands  and  the  cliffs,  of  the  arch- 
es and  the  grottos,  of  the  cities  and  solitudes,  which  occur 
in  the  beautiful  irregularity  of  its  outline;  nor  of  the  con- 
stant tides,  nor  the  boiling  whirlpools  and  eddies,  nor  the 
currents  and  streams,  which  are  dispersed  throughout  its 
surface.  The  variety  of  the  sea,  notwithstanding  the  uni- 
formity of  its  substance,  is  ever  changing  and  endless. 

21.  *' The  sea  is  his  and  he  made  it."  And  when  he 
made  it,  he  ordained,  that  it  should  be  the  element  and 
dwelling-place  of  multitudes  of  living  beings,  and  the  treas- 
ury of  many  riches.  How  populous,  and  wealthy,  and  boun- 
teous are  the  depths  of  the  sea!  How  many  are  the  tribes 
which  find  in  them  abundant  sustenance,  and  furnish  abun- 
dant sustenance  to  man. 


THE    PSALMS.  197 


LESSON   XCII.     The  Psalms. 

1.  Perhaps  there  is  no  book  in  the  sacred  volume,  which 
is  so  much  read  as  the  Psalms  of  David.  The  peculiar 
characteristics  of  their  poetical  merit  have  been  already 
briefly  noticed  ;  their  devotional  beauty  and  fervor  can  never 
be  felt  with  too  much  intensity,  nor  admired  with  too  much 
veneration.  The  variety  and  contrast  in  the  feelings  of  the 
Royal  Psalmist,  at  different  periods  of  his  eventful  life,  and 
in  different  circumstances  of  prosperity  or  trial,  render  his 
productions  beautifully  adapted  to  every  frame  of  mind  to 
which  the  believer  can  be  subject ;  while  the  extreme  ten- 
derness and  pathos  of  his  supplications  is  often  sufficient, 
one  would  think,  to  subdue  and  soften  even  the  hard  heart 
of  the  infidel, 

2.  His  compositions  are  a  storehouse  from  whence  almost 
all  characters  of  men  may  derive  something  suitable  to  their 
own  condition  and  peculiarities  of  mind.  Their  elevated 
intellectual  and  contemplative  character,  and  the  admiration 
of  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  created  universe,  which  they 
express  Jn  such  inimitable  language,  —  inimitable  both  for 
its  sweetness  and  sublimity,  — will  always  render  them  de- 
lightful to  the  man  of  genius  and  cultivated  taste  ;  but  it  is 
their  touching  adaptatioq  to  all  the  varieties  of  religious 
feeling,  which  gives  them  such  an  enduring  hold  upon  the 
heart. 

3.  Here  the  grateful  worshipper  will  find  such  irrepressi- 
ble and  ardent  strains  of  thanksgiving,  as  might  elevate  his 
soul  even  to  the  holy  adoration  of  the  world  above;  "  O, 
come  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord  !  let  us  heartily  rejoice  in 
the  Rock  of  our  salvation."  "I  will  sing  to  Jehovah  as 
long  as  I  live;  I  will  sing  praises  to  my  God  while  I  have 
my  being."  "  O,  magnify  the  Lord  with  me,  and  let  us 
exalt  his  name  together !  " 

4.  For  the  true  penitent  they  afford  the  most  humble  and 
heartfelt  expressions  of  sorrow  for  sin,  and  the  most  earnest 
prayers  for  restoration  and  forgiveness ;  '*  Against  Thee, 
Thee  only,  have  I  sinned,  and  done  evil  in  thy  sight." 
*'  Cast  me  not  away  from  thy  presence,  and  take  not  thy 
Holy  Spirit  from  me."  For  those  that  mourn  in  Zion,  there 
is  consolation  in  the  svmpathy  of  one,  "  whose  tears  were 


198  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

his  food  day   and  night,"  when  God  had   hidden  his  face 
from  him. 

5.  For  the  bereaved,  there  are  the  most  instructive  pic- 
tures of  calm  and  submissive  affliction  ;  "  I  was  dumb,  I 
opened  not  my  mouth,  because  thou  didst  it."  Here  the 
desponding  may  learn,  that  others  have  been  in  the  comfort- 
less gloom  before  them,  and  that  "  to  the  upright,  there 
ariseth  light  in  darkness." 

6.  Here  the  youthful  Christian  finds  an  echo  of  encour- 
agement to  the  energy  and  resolution  of  his  hopes,  and  the 
aged  and  experienced  one,  a  delightful  exhibition  of  sure 
and  confiding  trust  in  the  long-tried  mercy  of  Jehovah. 
"  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up."  "  The  young  lions  do  lack  and 
suffer  hunger ;  but  they  that  fear  the  Lord  shall  not  want 
any  good  thing."  **  Thou  hast  been  my  support  from  my 
youth  ;  now,  also,  when  I  am  old  and  grayheaded,  forsake 
me  not."  "  I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old,  yet  have 
I  never  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging 
bread." 

7.  Happy  would  it  be,  could  we  all  realize  in  our  own 
bosoms,  the  love,  the  gratitude,  the  penitential  sorrow,  the 
sacred  confidence,  and  the  fervent  aspirations  after  holiness 
and  heaven,  which  here  so  faithfully  and  vividly  delineate  the 
inward  life  of  the  Christian. 


LESSON  XCin.     God  our  Refuge.     Psalms,  xlvi. 

L  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength  ; 
A  powerful  help  in  trouble. 

Therefore  we  will  not  fear  though  the  earth  change, 
Though  the  mountains  tremble  in  the  heart  of  the  sea. 
Its  waters  roar  and  are  troubled  ; 
The  mountains  shake  with  its  raging, 

2.  There  is  a  river,  whose  brooks  gladden  the  city  of  Godj 
The  holy  dwelling-place  of  the  Most  High. 
God  is  within  her ;  she  shall  not  be  moved. 
God  shall  help  her,  earlier  than  the  dawning. 


LONDON.  199 

The  heathen  raged,  the  kingdoms  were  stirred  ; 
He  uttered  his  voice,  the  earth  melted. 
Jehovah  of  hosts  is  with  us  ; 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  Refuge. 

3.  Come,  behold  the  doings  of  Jehovah ! 

What  astonishments  he  hath  wrought  in  the  earth. 

He  quieteth  wars  to  the  end  of  the  earth ; 

The  bow  he  breaketh  in  pieces,  and  cutteth  asunder  the 

spear ; 
The  chariots  he  burneth  in  fire. 

4.  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God. 

I  will  be  exalted  among  the  nations, 
I  will  be  exalted  in  the  earth. 

5.  Jehovah  of  hosts  is  with  us  ; 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  Refuge. 


LESSON  XCIV.     London, 

■» 

1.  It  is  impossible,  by  any  written  description,  to  convey 
adequate  ideas  of  the  real  magnificence  of  London.  Indeed, 
it  is  not  till  after  a  person  has  been  in  the  city  for  some 
months,  that  he  begins  to  comprehend  it.  Every  new  walk 
opens  to  him  streets,  squares,  and  divisions,  which*  he  has 
never  before  seen.  And  even  those  places  where  he  is  most 
familiar  are  discovered,  day  by  day,  to  possess  archways, 
avenues,  and  thoroughfares  within  and  around  them,  which 
had  never  been  noticed  before.  People  who  have  spent 
their  whole  lives  in  the  city,  often  find  streets  and  buildings, 
of  which  they  had  never  before  heard,  and  which  they  had 
never  before  seen. 

2.  If  you  ascend  to  the  top  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  and 
look  down  through  the  openings  in  the  vast  cloud  of  smoke, 
which  envelopes  the  city,  you  notice  a  sea  of  edifices,  stretch- 
ing beyond  the  limited  view  that  is  permitted  by  the  im- 
pending vapors.  It  is  not  until  many  impressions  are  added 
together,  that  this  great  metropolis  is  understood,  even  by 
one  who  visits  and  studies  it. 

3.  It  is  not  until  the  observer  has  seen  the  palace  of  the 
king  and  the  hovel  of  the  beggar ;  the  broad  and  airy  streets 
inhabited  by  the  rich,  and  the  dark  and  dismal  abodes  of  the 


200  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

poor ;  the  countless  multitudes  that  ebb  and  flow  like  the 
tide,  through  some  of  the  principal  streets ;  the  thousands 
that  frequent  the  parks  and  promenades  during  the  day,  and 
other  thousands  that  shun  the  light,  and  only  steal  forth  in 
the  hours  of  darkness. 

4.  It  is  not  until  all  these,  and  many  other  spectacles 
have  been  witnessed,  that  he  can  understand  the  magnifi- 
cence and  meanness,  the  wealth  and  poverty,  the  virtue  and 
the  vice,  the  luxury  and  the  want,  the  happiness  and  misery, 
which  are  signified  by  that  brief  word,  London. 

5.  To  one  disposed  to  study  this  metropolis,  we  should 
recommend,  that,  at  the  approach  of  evening,  he  should  take 
his  station  on  Waterloo  bridge,  facing  the  north.  On  his 
right  hand  lies  that  part  which  is  called  the  City,  and  which, 
during  the  day,  is  devoted  to  business.  On  his  left  is  the 
West  End,  where  fashion,  luxury,  and  taste  hold  their  em- 
pire. At  evening,  this  part  of  the  city  is  tranquil,  or  only 
disturbed  by  an  occasional  coach,  while  the  eastern  part  of 
the  metropolis  yet  continues  to  send  forth  its  almost  deafen 
ing  roar.  Coaches  and  carriages,  carts  and  wagons  o' 
every  kind,  are  still  rolling  through  the  streets,  and,  ere  tb. 
busy  scene  closes,  appear  to  send  forth  redoubled  sound 
But  as  the  darkness  increases,  and  long  lines  of  lamps  sprin^r 
up  around  you  as  by  enchantment,  the  roar  of  the  city  be- 
gins to  abate.  By  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  it  decreas- 
es, and,  finally,  the  eastern  half  of  the  city  sinks  into  pro- 
found repose. 

6.  But  the  ear  is  now  attracted  by  a  hum  from  the  west 
end  of  the  city.  At  first,  a  distant  coach  only  is  heard,  and 
then  another,  and  another,  until  at  length  a  pervading  sound 
comes  from  every  quarter.  At  midnight,  the  theatres  are 
out,  and  the  roar  is  augmented.  At  two  o'clock,  the  routs, 
balls,  and  parties  are  over,  and,  for  a  short  period,  the  din 
rises  to  a  higher  and  a  higher  pitch.  At  length  it  ceases, 
and  there  is  a  half  hour  of  deep  repose. 

7.  The  whole  city  is  at  rest.  A  million  of  people  are 
sleeping  around  you.  It  is  now  an  impressive  moment,  and 
the  imagination  is  aflfected  with  the  deepest  awe.  But  the 
dawn  soon  bursts  through  the  mists  that  overhang  the  City. 
A  market  woman  is  seen  groping  through  the  dim  light  to 
arrange  her  stall;  a  laborer,  with  his  heavy  tread,  passes  by 
to  begin  his  task ;  a  wagoner,  with  his   horses,  shakes  the 


THE    NUNNERY.  201 

earth  around  you  as  he  thunders  by.  Other  persons  are 
soon  seen  ;  the  noise  increases,  the  smoke  streams  up  from 
thousands  of  chimneys,  the  sun  rises,  and  while  the  west 
end  of  London  remains  wrapped  in  silence  and  repose,  the 
eastern  portion  again  vibrates  with  the  uproar  of  business. 


LESSON  XCV.     The  Nunnery, 

\.  There  are  few  monasteries  in  France,  but  scarcely  a 
town  of  any  note,  where  there  are  not  one  or  more  convents 
for  nuns.  Sometimes  these  convents  are  attached  to  the 
hospital,  and  the  time  of  the  nuns  is  exclusively  devoted  to 
attendance  upon  the  sick.  In  this  case  they  are  not  clois- 
tered, as  their  duty  frequently  calls  them  to  different  parts 
of  the  town  or  country  upon  errands  of  charity.  They 
merely  wear  a  peculiar  dress,  divide  their  time  between  acts 
of  benevolence  and  religious  duties,  and  do  not  mix  in  so- 
ciety ;  such  are  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  Sisters  of  Prov- 
idence, of  whom  there  are  societies  all  over  the  continent 
of  Europe,  and  who  may  be  seen  with  their  downcast  looks 
and  folded  arms,  gliding  along  the  streets  of  the  populous 
cities,  apparently  unconscious  of  all  that  is  passing  around 
them. 

2.  Still  more  frequently,  they  devote  themselves  exclusive- 
ly to  the  education  of  girls,  and  almost  all  the  ladies,  both 
of  France  and  Italy,  are  brought  up  in  these  Pensionnats. 
There  are  also  convents  where  the  nuns  employ  themselves, 
both  in  attending  the  sick,  and  in  the  education  of  youth ; 
such,  for  example,  is  the  convent  of  Les  Scaurs  Hospitalieres, 
at  Bayeux,  a  town  which  has  now  dwindled  into  compara- 
tive insignificance,  but  which  is  still  the  residence  of  a 
Bishop,  and  remarkable  fo^the  elegance  of  its  Cathedral. 

3.  The  streets  of  Bayeux  are  mean  and  dirty,  and  on  ar- 
riving at  the  convent  gates,  the  mind  is  totally  unprepared 
for  the  quiet  and  beautiful  scene  of  seclusion,  which  the  in- 
terior presents,  and  which  is  rendered  doubly  striking  from 
its  existing  in  the  very  heart  of  a  manufacturing  town. 

4.  Upon  ringing  at  the  gate,  the  door  is  opened  by  the 
portress,  and,  after  passing  through  a  long,  stone  passage,  the 
stranger  is  conducted  into  a  small  parlor,  advancing  from 


202  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

the  building  with  an  iron  grating  in  front,  a  few  chairs,  and 
a  stone  floor.  Behind  the  grating  is  a  dark-red  curtain, 
which,  by  its  air  of  mystery,  excites  a  degree  of  impatient 
curiosity  for  its  removal.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  curtain  is 
drawn  aside,  and  one  of  the  nuns,  probably  a  Sozitr  Superi- 
eure,  dressed  in  the  habit  of  the  order,  and  distinguished  by 
the  large  bunch  of  keys  hanging  at  her  girdle,  appears  at 
the  grating,  and  enters  into  conversation  with  the  visiters. 

5.  No  gentleman  can  be  admitted  into  the  interior ;  but  an 
order  from  the  Superior  can  be  obtained  for  the  admission 
of  ladies,  who  wish  to  view  the  establishment.  In  the 
mean  time,  nothing  can  be  more  striking,  than  the  scene 
which  is  visible  through  the  grating,  which  seems  like  a 
glimpse  into  a  world  totally  distinct  from  that  which  we 
have  left  behind  us.  In  the  large  and  beautiful  garden, 
tastefully  diversified  with  trees  and  flowers  of  every  hue  and 
variety,  groups  of  nuns  with  long  black  veils,  may  be  seen 
gliding  among  the  trees  and  through  the  winding  alleys. 

6.  Some  are  employed  in  teaching  the  pensionnaires, 
some  are  embroidering  under  the  shade  of  the  trees.  All 
seem  cheerful  and  contented  ;  all  are  occupied,  and  pursu- 
ing their  various  tasks  with  assiduity.  When  the  order  for 
admission  is  obtained,  the  inner  gates  are  opened,  and  the 
Mere  Superieurc,  a  venerable  old  lady,  leaning  on  a  staff", 
receives  the  strangers,  and  conducts  them  into  the  garden, 
where  a  nearer  view  of  the  inmates  tends  to  dissipate  still 
more  effectually  those  ideas  of  gloom,  which  seem  con- 
nected with  a  conventual  life. 

7.  The  convent,  formerly  one  of  the  wealthiest  in 
France,  is  a  large  stone  building,  of  great  antiquity.  It 
contains  upwards  of  two  hundred  nuns,  governed  by  a  Su- 
perior, chosen  from  among  their  body,  and  at  whose  elec- 
tion is  a  solemn  religious  ceremony.  The  Superior  is  ap- 
pointed for  a  certain  number  of  years;  but,  at  the  end  of  that 
period,  the  same  is  usually  reelected.  Of  these  nuns  the 
greater  part  are  cloistered,  but  there  are  some  lay-sisters, 
and  numerous  novices. 

8.  Though  there  are  many  of  their  number  belonging  to 
the  oldest  families  in  France,  and  some  of  much  lower  rank, 
there  are  no  distinctions  of  that  nature  among  them.     "Qy , 
turns  they  make  the  beds,  sweep  the  floors,  and  attend  upon 
the  others  at  table. 


THE   SOLDIER'S    DREAM.  203 

9.  The  lay-sisters  are  permitted  to  walk  with  the  board- 
ers, and  may  be  sent  on  errands,  when  anything  is  wanted 
for  the  use  of  the  convent.  The  novices  are  strictly 
watched,  and  seldom  allowed  to  leave  the  gates.  They  are 
distinguished  from  the  others  by  their  white  veil.  Their 
noviciate  lasts  three  years,  and  a  considerable  sum  is  paid 
by  them  on  entering,  after  which  they  are  maintained  by 
the  establishment.  The  ceremony  of  taking  the  black  veil 
is  one  of  the  most  solemn  and  beautiful  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion. 

10.  High  mass  is  celebrated  in  the  chapel.  The  bishop 
officiates  in  his  splendid  robes.  The  novice  appears  dressed 
in  white,  and  sometimes  decked  with  jewels  like  a  bride. 
She  kneels  before  the  altar,  while  the  Bishop  pronounces  a 
discourse  upon  the  solemnity  of  the  vows,  which  she  is 
about  to  pronounce.  She  then  retires  behind  the  altar. 
Her  long  hair  is  cut  off,  and  she  is  invested  with  the  nun's 
garment.  She  is  then  led  forward  to  the  bishop,  and,  hav- 
ing pronounced,  upon  her  knees,  her  intention  of  abjuring 
the  world,  and  devoting  herself  to  the  service  of  God,  she 
receives  his  benediction.  The  black  veil  is  then  thrown 
over  her.  A  solemn  hymn  is  chanted  to  the  notes  of  the 
organ,  and  the  gates  of  the  convent  are  henceforth  closed 
upon  her  for  ever. 

11.  It  is  true,  that,  by  the  order  of  the  government,  all 
nuns  are  now  regarded  as  free  from  their  vows  after  a  cer- 
tain period;  but  though  a  nun  who  breaks  her  vows  is  no 
longer  built  up  in  a  wall  as  in  days  of  old,  yet  there  is 
a  wall  of  public  opinion  which  is  almost  as  formidable  to 
her ;  and  it  is  probable  that  a  long  period  will  elapse  be- 
fore any  female  will  have  courage  to  break  through  this 
barrier,  and  expose  herself  to  the  scorn  of  her  companions, 
and  the  indignation  of  the  Church. 


LESSON  XCVI.     The  Soldier's  Dream. 

Our  bugles  sang  truce,— for  the  night-cloud  had  lowered, 
And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky  ; 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpowered, 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 


204  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

2.  When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 

By  the  wolf-scaring  fagot  that  guarded  the  slain, 
At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw. 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamed  it  again. 

3.  Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array, 

Far,  far,  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track ; 
'T  was  autumn,  —  and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me  back 

4. 1  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields,  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was  young; 
I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft, 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers  sung. 

5.  Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 

From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to  part ; 
My  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er. 
And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness  of  heart. 

6.  "  Stay,  stay  with  us, —  rest,  thou  art  weary  and  worn ;  "— • 

And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay ; 
But  sorrow  returned  vidth  the  dawning  of  morn. 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 


LESSON  XCVII.      The  Sabbath. 

1.  How  still  the  morning  of  the  hallowed  day  ! 
Mute  is  the  voice  of  rural  labor,  hushed 

The  ploughboy's  whistle,  and  the  milk-maid  s  song. 
The  scythe  lies  glittering  in  the  dewy  wreath 
Of  tedded  grass,  mingled  with  fading  flowers, 
That  yester-morn  bloomed  waving  in  the  breeze. 
Sounds  the  most  faint  attract  the  ear,  —  the  hum 
Of  early  bee,  the  trickling  of  the  dew. 
The  distant  bleating,  midway  up  the  hill. 
Calmness  sits  throned  on  yon  unmoving  cloud. 

2.  To  him  who  wanders  o'er  the  upland  leas, 

The  blackbird's  note  comes  mellower  from  the  dale; 


THE  SABBATH.  205 

And  sweeter  from  the  sky  the  gladsome  lark 
Warbles  his  heaven-tuned  song  ;  the  lulling  brook 
Murmurs  more  gently  down  the  deep-worn  glen ; 
While,  from  yon  lowly  roof,  whose  curling  smoke 
O'ermounts  the  mist,  is  heard,  at  intervals. 
The  voice  of  psalms,  —  the  simple  song  of  praise. 

3.  With  dove-like  wings,  Peace  o'er  yon  village  broods; 
The  dizzying  mill-wheel  rests ;  the  anvil's  din 
Hath  ceased  ;  all,  all  around  is  quietness. 

Less  fearful  on  this  day,  the  limping  hare 

Stops,  and  looks  back,  and  stops,  and  looks  on  man. 

Her  deadliest  foe.     The  toil-worn  horse,  set  free, 

Unheedful  of  the  pasture,  roams  at  large  ; 

And,  as  his  stiff,  unwieldy  bulk  he  rolls, 

His  iron-armed  hoofs  gleam  in  the  morning  ray. 

4.  But  chiefly  man  the  day  of  rest  enjoys. 

Hail,  Sabbath  !  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day. 
On  other  days  the  man  of  toil  is  doomed 
To  eat  his  joyless  bread,  lonely ;  the  ground 
Both  seat  and  board  ;  screened  from  the  winter's  cold 
And  summer's  heat,  by  neighboring  hedge  or  tree  ; 
But  on  this  day,  embosomed  in  his  home. 
He  shares  the  frugal  meal  with  those  he  loves ; 
With  those  he  loves  he  shares  the  heartfelt  joy 
Of  giving  thanks  to  God,  —  not  thanks  of  form, 
A  word  and  a  grimace,  but  reverently, 
With  covered  face,  and  upward,  earnest  eye. 

5.  Hail,  Sabbath  !  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day. 
The  pale  mechanic  now  h&s  leave  to  breathe 
The  morning  air,  pure  from  the  city's  smoke  ; 
While,  wandering  slowly  up  the  river  side, 

He  meditates  on  Him,  whose  power  he  marks 
In  each  green  tree  that  proudly  spreads  the  bough. 
As  in  the  tiny  dew-bent  flowers,  that  bloom 
Around  its  roots  ;  and  while  he  thus  surveys, 
With  elevated  joy,  each  rural  charm, 
He  hopes,  yet  fears  presumption  in  the  hope. 
That  heaven  may  be  one  Sabbath  without  end. 
18 


206  THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  XCVIII.     Neatness. 

1.  Among  the  minor  virtues,  cleanliness  ought  to  be  con- 
spicuously ranked ;  and  in  the  common  topics  of  praise  we 
generally  arrange  some  commendation  of  neatness.  It  in- 
volves much.  It  supposes  a  love  of  order,  and  attention  to 
the  laws  of  custom,  and  a  decent  pride.  My  Lord  Bacon 
says,  that  **  a  good  person  is  a  perpetual  letter  of  recom- 
mendation." 

2.  This  idea  may  be  extended.  Of  a  well-dressed  man 
it  may  be  affirmed,  that  he  has  a  sure  passport  through  the 
realms  of  civility.  In  first  interviews  we  can  judge  of  no 
one  except  from  appearances.  He,  therefore,  whose  exteri- 
or is  agreeable,  begins  well  in  any  society. 

3.  Men  and  womeo.  are  disposed  to  augur  favorably  rather 
than  otherwise  of  him  who  manifests,  by  the  purity  and  pro- 
priety of  his  garb,  a  disposition  to  comply  and  to  please.  As 
in  rhetoric,  a  judicious  exordium  is  of  admirable  use  to  ren- 
der an  audience  docile,  attentive,  and  benevolent,  so,  at  our 
introduction  into  good  company,  clean  and  modish  apparel 
is  at  least  a  serviceable  herald  of  our  exertions,  though  an 
humble  one. 

4.  Should  I  see  a  man,  though  even  a  genius,  totally 
regardless  of  his  person,  I  should  immediately  doubt  the 
delicacy  of  his  taste  and  the  accuracy  of  his  judgment.  I 
should  conclude  there  was  some  obliquity  in  his  mind, — 
a  dull  sense  of  decorum,  and  a  disregard  of  order.  I  should 
fancy,  that  he  consorted  with  low  society,  and,  instead  of 
claiming  the  privilege  of  genius  to  knock  and  be  admitted 
at  palaces,  that  he  chose  to  sneak  in  at  the  back-door  of 
hovels,  and  wallow  brutishly  in  the  sty  of  the  vulgar. 

5.  The  Orientals  are  particularly  careful  of  their  per- 
sons. Their  frequent  ablutions  and  change  of  garments  are 
noticed  in  every  page  of  their  history.  More  than  one  pre- 
cept for  neatness  can  be  quoted  from  the  Bible.  The  wise 
men  of  the  East  supposed  there  was  some  analogy  between 
the  purity  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  mind,  nor  is  this  a 
vain  imagination. 

6.  I  cannot  conclude  these  remarks  better  than  by  an  ex- 
tract from  the  works  of  Count  Rumford,  who,  in  few  and 
strong  words,  has  fortified  my  doctrine ;  '*  With  what  care 


CHILDREN.  207 

and  attention  do  the  feathered  race  wash  themselves,  and 
put  their  plumage  in  order  !  and  how  perfectly  neat,  clean, 
and  elegant,  do  they  ever  appear  !  Among  the  beasts  of  the 
field,  we  find  that  those  which  are  the  most  cleanly  are  gen- 
erally the  most  gay  and  cheerful,  or  are  distinguished  by  a 
certain  air  of  tranquillity  and  contentment;  and  singing-birds 
are  always  remarkable  for  the  neatness  of  their  plumage.  So 
great  is  the  effect  of  cleanliness  upon  man,  tha>fe  it  extends 
even  to  his  moral  character.  Virtue  never  dwelt  long  with 
filth ;  nor  do  I  believe  there  ever  was  a  person  scrupulously 
attentive  to  cleanliness,  who  was  a  consummate  villain." 


LESSON   XCIX.     Children. 

1.  Among  yonder  children  who  are  now  playing  together 
like  birds  among  the  blossoms  of  earth,  haunting  all  the  green 
shadowy  places  thereof,  and  rejoicing  in  the  bright  air,  hap- 
py and  beautiful  creatures,  and  as  changeable  as  happy,  with 
eyes  brimful  of  joy,  and  with  hearts  playing  upon  their  faces 
like  sunshine  upon  clear  waters;  —  among  those  who  are 
now  idling  together  on  that  slope,  ^  pursuing  butterflies  to- 
gether on  the  edge  of  that  wood,  a  wilderness  of  roses,  you 
would  see  not  only  the  gifted  and  the  powerful,  the  wise  and 
.the  eloquent,  the  ambitious  and  the  renowned,  the  long- 
lived  and  the  long-to-be-lamented  of  another  age;  but  the 
wicked  and  the  treacherous,  the  liar  and  the  thief,  the  aban- 
doned profligate,  and  the  faithless  husband,  the  gambler 
and  the  drunkard,  the  robber,  the  burglar,  the  murderer, 
and  the  betrayer  of  his  country.  "  The  child  is  father  of  the 
man.'* 

2.  Among  them,  and  that  other  little  troop  just  appearing, 
children  with  yet  happier  faces,  and  pleasanter  eyes,  the 
blossoms  of  the  future, —  the  mothers  of  nations,  —  you 
would  see  the  founders  of  states  and  the  destroyers  of  their 
country,  the  steadfast  and  the  weak,  the  judge  and  the  crim- 
inal, the  murderer  and  the  executioner,  the  exalted  and  the 
lowly,  the  unfaithful  wife  and  the  broken-hearted  husband, 
the  proud  betrayer  and  his  pale  victim,  the  living  and 
breathing  portents  and  prodigies,  the  embodied  virtues  and 


208  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

vices  of  another  age  and  of  another  world,  and  all  playing 
together  !     *'  3Ien  are  hut  children  of  a  larger  growth.'' 

3.  Pursuing  the  search,  you  would  go  further  among  the 
little  creatures,  as  among  the  types  of  another  and  a  loftier 
language,  to  become  universal  hereafter,  types  in  which  the 
autobiography  of  the  future  was  written  ages  and  ages  ago. 
Among  the  innocent  and  helpless  creatures  that  are  called 
children,  you  would  see  warriors,  with  their  garments  rolled 
ill  blood,  the  spectres  of  kings  and  princes,  poets  with  gold- 
en harps  and  illuminated  eyes,  historians  and  painters,  ar- 
chitects and  sculptors,  mechanics  and  merchants,  preach- 
ers and  lawyers ;  here  a  grave-digger,  flying  a  kite  with  his 
future  customer ;  there  a  physician,  playing  at  marbles  with 
his ;  here  the  predestined  to  an  early  and  violent  death  for 
cowardice,  fighting  the  battles  of  a  whole  neighborhood ; 
there  a  Cromwell,  or  a  Ccesar,  a  Napoleon,  or  a  Washing- 
ton, hiding  themselves  for  fear,  enduring  reproach  or  insult 
with  patience ;  a  Benjamin  Franklin,  higgling  for  nuts  or 
gingerbread,  or  the  *'old  Parr"  of  another  generation,  sit- 
ting apart  in  the  sunshine,  and  shivering  at  every  breath  of 
wind  that  reaches  him.  Yet  we  are  told,  that  ''just  as  the 
twig  is  henty  the  txec  's  inclined." 

4.  Such  are  children.  Corrupted,  they  ar^  fountains  of 
bitterness  for  ages.  Would  you  plant  for  the  skies?  Plant 
in  the  live  soil  of  the  warm,  and  generous,  and  youthful ; 
pour  all  your  treasures  into  the  hearts  of  children.  Would 
you  look  into  the  future  as  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  and 
read,  as  with  a  telescope,  the  history  and  character  of  our 
country,  and  of  other  countries  ?  You  have  but  to  watch 
the  eyes  of  children  at  play. 

5.  Even  fathers  and  mothers  look  upon  children  with  a 
strange  misapprehension  of  their  dignity.  Even  with  the 
poets,  they  are  only  the  flowers  and  blossoms,  the  dewdrops 
or  the  playthings,  of  earth.  Yet  "of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven."  The  kingdom  of  heaven!  with  all  its  princi- 
palities and  powers,  its  hierarchies,  dominions,  and  thrones ! 
The  Saviour  understood  them  better  ;  to  him  their  true  dig- 
nity was  revealed.  Flowers  !  they  are  the  flowers  of  the 
invisible  world ;  indestructible,  self-perpetuating  flowers, 
each  with  a  multitude  of  angels  and  evil  spirits  underneath 
its  leaves,  toiling  and  wrestling  for  dominion  over  it ! 

6.  Blossoms !  They  are  the  blossoms  of  another  world, 


ANfiCDOTES    OF    CHILDREN.  209 

whose  fruitage  is  angels  and  archangels.  Or  dewdrops! 
They  are  dewdrops  that  have  their  source,  not  in  the  cham- 
bers of  the  earth,  nor  among  the  vapors  of  the  sky,  which 
the  next  breath  of  wind,  or  the  next  flash  of  sunshine,  may 
dry  up  forever,  but  among  the  everlasting  fountains  and  in- 
exhaustible reservoirs  of  mercy  and  love.  Playthings  !  If 
the  little  creatures  would  but  appear  to  us  in  their  true 
shape  for  a  moment,  we  should  fall  upon  our  faces  before 
them,  or  grow  pale  with  consternation,  or  fling  them  off 
with  horror. 

7.  What  would  be  our  feelings,  to  see  a  fair  child  start 
up  before  us  a  manaic,  or  a  murderer,  armed  to  the  teeth  ? 
to  find  a  nest  of  serpents  on  our  pillow  1  a  destroyer  or  a 
traitor,  a  Harry  the  Eighth,  or  a  Benedict  Arnold,  asleep  in 
our  bosom?  A  Catharine  or  a  Peter,  a  Bacon,  a  Galileo,  or 
a  Bentham,  a  Napoleon,  or  a  Voltaire,  clambering  up  our 
knees  after  sugar-plumbs  1  Cuvier,  laboring  to  distinguish  a 
horse-fly  from  a  blue-bottle,  or  dissecting  a  spider  with  a 
rusty  nail  ?  La  Place  trying  to  multiply  his  own  apples,  or- 
to  subtract  his  play-fellow's  gingerbread?  What  should  we 
say,  to  find  ourselves  romping  with  Messalina,  Swedenborg, 
and  Madame  de  Stael?  or  playing  bo-peep  with  Marat, 
Robespierre,  and  Charlotte  Corday,  or  "puss  puss  in  the  cor- 
ner," with  George  Washington,  Jonathan  Wild,  Shakspeare, 
Sappho,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Mrs.  Clark,  or  Alfieri? 

S.  Yet  stranger  things  have  happened.  These  were  all 
children  but  the  other  day,  and  clambered  about  the  knees, 
and  rummaged  in  the  pockets,  and  nestled  in  the  laps,  of 
people  no  better  than  we  are.  But,  if  they  could  have  ap- 
peared in  their  true  shape  for  a  single  moment,  while  they 
were  playing  together,  what  a  scampering  there  would 
have  been  among  the  grown  folks !  how  their  fingers  would 
have  tinorled ! 


LESSON    C.     Anecdotes  of  Children, 

(■■. 

1.  I  REMEMBER  a  little  boy  who  was  a  lexicographer  from 
his  birth,  a  language-master,  and  a  philosopher.  From  the 
hour  he  was  able  to  ask  for  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter,  he 
never  hesitated  for  a  word,  not  he !     If  one  would  not  serve, 

18» 


210  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

another  would,  with  a  little  twisting  and  turning.  He  as- 
sured me  one  day,  when  I  was  holding  him  by  the  hand 
rather  tighter  than  he  wished  (he  was  but  just  able  to  speak  at 
the  time),  that  I  should  choke  his  hand;  at  another,  he  came 
to  me,  all  out  of  breath,  to  announce,  that  a  man  was  below 
shaving  the  wall.  Upon  due  inquiry,  it  turned  out  that  he 
was  only  white-ic ashing.  But  how  should  he  know  the  dif- 
ference between  white-wash  and  lather,  a  big  brush  and  a 
little  one?  Show  me,  if  you  can,  a  prettier  example  of 
synthesis  or  generalization,  or  a  more  beautiful  adaptation 
of  old  words  to  new  purposes. 

2.  I  have  heard  another  complain  of  a  school-fellow  for 
winking  at  him  icith  his  Up;  and  he  took  the  affront  very 
much  to  heart,  I  assure  you,  and  would  not  be  pacified  till 
the  matter  was  cleared  up.  Other  children  talk  about  the 
bones  in  peaches,  —  osteologists  are  they  ;  and  others,  when 
they  have  the  toothache,  aver  that  it  hums  them.  Of  such 
is  the  empire  of  poetry.  I  have  heard  another  give  a  public 
challenge  in  these  words,  to  every  child  that  came  near,  as 
she  sat  upon  the  door-step,  with  a  pile  of  tamarind-stones, 
nut-shells,  and  pebbles  lying  before  her.  **  Ah !  I  've  got 
many-er  than  you  !  "  That  child  was  a  better  grammarian 
than  Lindley  Murray.  And  her  wealth,  in  what  was  it  un- 
like the  hoarded  and  useless  wealth  of  millions? 

3.  Never  shall  I  forget  another  incident  which  occurred 
in  my  presence  between  two  other  boys.  One  was  trying  to 
jump  over  a  wheel-barrow.  Another  was  going  by ;  he 
stopped,  and  after  considering  a  moment,  spoke.  "  I  '11 
tell  you  what  you  can't  do,"  said  he.  "  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 
"  You  can't  jump  down  your  own  throat."  "  Well,  yoti 
can't."  "  Can't  I  though  ?  "  The  simplicity  of  ''  Well, 
you  can't,"  and  the  roguishness  of  "  Can't  I  though?" 
tickled  me  prodigiously.  They  reminded  me  of  sparring  1 
had  seen  elsewhere,  —  I  should  not  like  to  say  where, — 
having  a  great  respect  for  the  temples  of  justice  and  the 
halls  of  legislation. 

4.  "  I  say  't  is  white-oak."  "  I  say  it 's  red-oak."  "  Well, 
I  say  it  's  white-oak  !  "  "  I  tell  ye  't  aint  white-oak."  Here 
they  had  joined  issue  for  the  first  time.  ''  I  say  't  is."  *'  I  say 
'.t  aint."  *'  I  '11  bet  you  ten  thousand  dollars  of  it."  ''  Well, 
I  '11  bet  you  ten  ten  thousand  dollars."  Such  were  the  very 
words  of  a  conversation  I  have  just  heard  between  two  chil- 


ANECDOTES    OF    CHILDREN.  211 

dren,  the  elder  six,  the  other  about  five.  Were  not  these 
miniature  men  ?     Stockbrokers  and  theologians  ? 

5.  *'  Well,  my  lad,  you  've  been  to  meeting,  hey  ?  "  "  Yes 

Sir."     "And   who   preached    for   you?"     "Mr.    P ." 

"  Ah !  and  what  did  he  say  ? "  "I  can't  remember,  Sir,  he 
put  me  out  so."  "Put  you  out?"  "Yes  Sir,  —  he  kept 
lookin'  at  my  new  clothes  all  meetin'  time ! "  That  child 
must  have  been  a  close  observer.  Will  any  body  tell  me, 
that  he  did  not  know  what  some  people  go  to  meeting  for? 

6.  It  was  but  yesterday  that  I  passed  a  fat  little  girl,  with 
large  hazel  eyes,  sitting  by  herself  in  a  gateway,  with  her 
feet  stretching  straight  out  into  the  street.  She  was  holding  a 
book  in  one  hand,  and  with  a  bit  of  stick,  in  the  other,  was 
pointing  to  the  letters.  "What's  that?"  cried  she,  in  a 
sweet,  chirping  voice,  "  hey ;  look  on !  What  's  that,  I  say  ? 
F.  No  —  o — o  —  oh!"  shaking  her  little  head  with  the 
air  of  a  school-mistress,  who  has  made  up  her  mind  not  to 
be  trifled  with. 

7.  But  children  have  other  characters.  At  times  they 
are  creatures  to  be  afraid  of  Every  case  I  give  is  a  fact 
within  my  own  observation.  There  are  children,  and  I  have 
had  to  do  with  them,  whose  very  eyes  were  terrible;  chil- 
dren, who  after  years  of  watchful  and  anxious  discipline, 
were  as  indomitable  as  the  young  of  the  wild  beast,  dropped 
in  the  wilderness,  crafty  and  treacherous  and  cruel.  And 
others  I  have  known,  who,  if  they  live,  must  have  dominion 
over  the  multitude,  being  evidently  of  them  that  from  the 
foundations  of  the  world  have  been  always  thundering  at 
the  gates  of  power. 

8.  Parents !  Fathers !  Mothers !  if  it  be  true,  that  "  just 
a?  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree  's  inclined,"  how  much  have 
you  to  answer  for  !  If  "  men  are  but  children  of  a  larger 
growth,"  watch  your  children  forever,  by  day  and  by  night ! 
pray  for  them  forever,  by  night  and  by  day  !  and  not  as  chil- 
dren, but  as  men  of  a  smaller  growth ;  as  men  with  most  of 
the  evil  passions,  and  with  all  the  evil  propensities,  that  go 
to  make  man  terrible  to  his  fellow-men.   '  . 


212  THE   FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  CI.     Early  Display  of  Genius. 

1.  Many  striking  instances  have  occurred,  of  the  capacity 
and  vigor  of  the  human  mind,  even  amidst  the  obscurities 
and  the  obstructions  to  mental  activity  which  exist  in  the 
present  state  of  things.  The  illustrious  Pascal,  no  less  cel- 
ebrated for  his  piety  than  for  his  intellectual  acquirements, 
when  under  the  age  of  twelve  years,  and  while  immersed  in 
the  study  of  languages,  without  books  and  without  an  in- 
structor, discovered  and  demonstrated  most  of  the  proposi- 
tions in  the  first  book  of  Euclid,  before  he  knew  that  such 
a  book  was  in  existence,  —  to  the  astonishment  of  every 
mathematician;  so  that,  at  that  early  age,  he  was  an  invent- 
or of  geometrical  science. 

2.  He  afterwards  made  some  experiments  and  discoveries 
on  the  nature  of  sound,  and  on  the  weight  of  the  air,  and 
demonstrated  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  ;  and  at  the  age 
of  sixteen,  composed  a  treatise  on  Conic  Sections,  which, 
in  the  judgment  of  men  of  the  greatest  abilities,  was  an 
astonishing  effort  of  the  human  mind.  At  nineteen  years 
of  age,  he  invented  an  arithmetical  machine,  by  which 
calculations  are  made,  not  only  without  the  help  of  a  pen, 
but  even  without  a  person's  knowing  a  single  rule  in  arith- 
metic; and,  at  tlie  age  of  twenty-four,  he  had  acquired  a 
proficiency  in  almost  every  branch  of  human  knowledge, 
when  his  mind  became  entirely  absorbed  in  the  exercises  of 
religion. 

3.  The  celebrated  Grotius,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  only  a 
year  after  his  arrival  at  the  university  of  Leyden,  maintained 
public  theses  in  mathematics,  philosophy,  and  law,  with  uni- 
versal applause.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  he  ventured  to 
form  literary  plans  which  required  an  amazing  extent  of 
knowledge ;  and  he  executed  them  in  such  perfection,  that 
the  literary  world  was  struck  with  astonishment.  At  this 
early  age,  he  published  an  edition  of  Martianus  Capella, 
and  acquitted  himself  of  the  task  in  a  manner  which  woula 
have  done  honor  to  the  greatest  scholars  of  the  age. 

4.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  entered  on  the  profession 
of  an  advocate,  and  pleaded  his  first  cause  at  Delf,  with  the 
greatest  reputation,  having  previously  made  an  extraordina- 
ry progress  in  the  knowledge  of  the  sciences.    The  Admira" 


EARLY    DISPLAY   OF    GENIUS.  gl3 

ble  Criclitorij  who  received  his  education  at  Perth  and  St. 
Andrews,  by  the  time  he  had  reached  his  twentieth  year, 
was  master  of  ten  languages,  and  had  gone  through  the 
whole  circle  of  the  sciences  as  they  were  then  understood. 

5.  At  Paris  he  one  day  engaged  in  a  disputation,  which 
lasted  nine  hours,  in  the  presence  of  three  thousand  audi- 
tors, against  four  doctors  of  the  church,  and  fifty  masters, 
on  every  subject  they  could  propose ;  and,  having  silenced  all 
his  antagonists,  he  came  off  amidst  the  loudest  acclama- 
tions, though  he  had  spent  no  time  in  previous  preparation 
for  the  contest. 

6.  Gassendif  a  celebrated  philosopher  of  France,  at  the 
age  of  four,  declaimed  little  sermons  of  his  own  composi- 
tion ;  at  the  age  of  seven,  spent  whole  nights  in  observing 
the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  of  which  he  acquired  a 
considerable  knowledge  at  sixteen ;  he  was  appointed  pro- 
fessor of  rhetoric  at  Digne,  and,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  he 
was  elected  professor  of  philosophy  in  the  university  of  Aix. 
His  vast  knowledge  of  philosophy  and  mathematics  was  or- 
namented by  a  sincere  attachment  to  the  Christian  religion, 
and  a  life  formed  upon  its  principles  and  precepts. 

7.  Jeremiah  Horrox^  a  name  celebrated  in  the  annals  of 
astronomy,  before  he  attained  the  age  of  seventeen,  had  ac- 
quired, solely  by  his  own  industry,  and  the  help  of  a  few 
Latin  authors,  a  most  extensive  and  thorough  knowledge  of 
astronomy,  and  of  the  branches  of  mathematical  learning 
connected  with  it.  He  composed  astronomical  tables  for 
himself,  and  corrected  the  errors  of  the  most  celebrated  as- 
tronomers of  his  time.  He  calculated  a  transit  of  the  planet 
Venus  across  the  sun's  disk,  and  was  the  first  of  mortals 
who  beheld  this  singular  phenomenon,  which  is  now  consid- 
ered of  so  much  importance  in  astronomical  science. 

8.  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  the  fame  of  whose  genius  has  ex- 
tended over  the  whole  civilized  world,  made  his  great  dis- 
coveries in  geometry  and  fluxions,  and  laid  the  foundation 
of  his  two  celebrated  works,  his  "  Principia  "  and  "  Optics," 
by  the  time  he  was  twenty-four  years  of  age;  and  yet  these* 
works  contain  so  many  abstract  and  sublime  truths,  that' 
only  the  first-rate  mathematicians  are  qualified  to  understand 
and  appreciate  them.  In  learning  mathematics,  he  did  not 
study  the  geometry  of  Euclid,  which  seemed  to  him  too 
plain  and  simple,  and  unworthy  of  taking  up  his  time. 


214  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

9.  He  understood  him  almost  before  he  read  him ;  and  a 
cast  of  his  eye,  upon  the  contents  of  his  theorems,  was  suf- 
ficient to  make  him  master  of  their  demonstrations.  Amidst 
all  the  sublime  investigations  of  physical  and  mathematical 
science  in  which  he  engaged,  and  amidst  the  variety  of 
books  he  had  constantly  before  him,  the  Bible  was  that 
which  he  studied  with  the  greatest  application;  and  his 
meekness  and  modesty  were  no  less  admirable  than  the  vari- 
ety and  extent  of  his  intellectual  acquirements. 

li.  J.  Philip  Barratier,  who  died  at  Halle  in  1740,  in 
the  twentieth  year  of  his  age,  was  endowed  with  extraor- 
dinary powers  of  memory  and  comprehension  of  mind.  At 
the  age  of  five,  he  understood  the  Greek,  Latin,  German, 
and  French  languages ;  at  the  age  of  nine  he  could  trans- 
late any  part  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  into  Latin,  and 
could  repeat  the  whole  Hebrew  Psalter ;  and  before  he  had 
completed  his  tenth  year,  he  drew  up  a  Hebrew  Lexicon  of 
uncommon  and  difficult  words,  to  which  he  added  many 
curious  critical  remarks. 

11.  In  his  thirteenth  year  he  published,  in  two  volumes 
octavo,  a  translation  from  the  Hebrew  of  Rabbi  Benjamin's 
*'  Travels  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,"  with  historical  and 
critical  notes  and  dissertations;  the  whole  of  which  he  com- 
pleted in  four  months.  In  the  midst  of  these  studies,  he 
prosecuted  philosophical  and  mathematical  pursuits,  and  in 
his  fourteenth  year  invented  a  method  of  discovering  the 
longitude  at  sea,  which  exhibited  the  strongest  marks  of  su- 
perior abilities.  In  one  winter  he  read  twenty  great  folios, 
with  all  the  attention  of  a  vast,  comprehensive  mind. 

12.  Such  rapid  progress  in  intellectual  acquirement  strik- 
ingly evinces  the  vigor  and  comprehension  of  the  human 
faculties ;  and,  if  such  varied  and  extensive  acquisitions  in 
knowledge  can  be  attained,  even  amidst  the  frailties  and 
physical  impediments  of  this  mortal  state,  it  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive, with  what  energy  and  rapidity  the  most  sublime  in- 
vestigations may  be  prosecuted  in  the  future  world,  when 
the  spirit  is  connected  with  an  incorruptible  body,  fitted  to 
accompany  it  in  all  its  movements :  and  when  every  moral 
obstruction  which  now  impedes  its  activity  shall  be  com- 
pletely removed. 

13.  The  flights  of  the  loftiest  genius  that  ever  appeared  on 
earth,  when  compared  with  the  rapid  movements  and  compre- 


THE    CALUMNIATOR.  *  215 

hensive  views  of  the  heavenly  inhabitants,  may  be  no  more 
than  the  flutterings  of  a  microscopic  insect  to  the  sublime 
flights  of  the  soaring  eagle.  When  endowed  with  new  and 
vigorous  senses,  and  full  scope  is  afforded  for  exerting  all  the 
energies  of  their  renovated  faculties,  they  may  be  enabled  to 
trace  out  the  hidden  springs  of  nature's  operations,  to  pursue 
the  courses  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  in  their  most  distant  and 
rapid  career,  and  to  survey  the  whole  chain  of  moral  dispen- 
sations in  reference  not  only  to  the  human  race,  but  to  the 
inhabitants  of  numerous  worlds. 


LESSOiN  ClI.     The  Calumniator 

1.  I  AM  one  of  those  who  believe  that  the  heart  of  the 
wilful  and  deliberate  libeller  is  blacker  than  that  of  the  high- 
way robber,  or  of  one  who  commits  the  crime  of  midnight 
arson.  The  man  who  plunders  on  the  highway,  may  have 
the  semblance  of  an  apology  for  what  he  does.  An  affec- 
tionate wife  may  demand  subsistence ;  a  circle  of  helpless 
children  raise  to  him  the  supplicating  hand  for  food.  He 
may  be  driven  to  the  desperate  act  by  the  high  mandate  of 
imperative  necessity. 

2.  The  mild  features  of  the  husband  and  the  father  may 
intermingle  with  those  of  the  robber,  and  soften  the  rough- 
ness of  the  shade.  But  the  robber  of  character  plunders 
that  which  '*  not  enriches  him,"  though  it  makes  his  neigh- 
bor "  poor  indeed."  The  man  who,  at  the  midnight  hour, 
consumes  his  neighbor's  dwelling,  does  him  an  injury, 
which,  perhaps,  is  not  irreparable.  Industry  may  rear  an- 
other habitation.  The  storm  may,  indeed,  descend  upon 
him,  until  charity  opens  a  neighboring  door;  the  rude  winds 
of  heaven  may  whistle  around  his  uncovered  family.  But 
he  looks  forward  to  better  days ;  he  has  yet  a  hook  to  hang 
a  hope  on. 

3.  No  such  consolation  cheers  the  heart  of  him  whose 
character  has  been  torn  from  him.  If  innocent,  he  may 
look,  like  Anaxagoras,  to  the  heavens;  but  he  must  be  con- 
strained to  feel,  that  this  world  is  to  him  a  wilderness.  For 
whither  shall   he  go?     Shall   he   dedicate   himself  to  the 


210  THE  FOURTH  READER 

service  of  his  country  ?  But  will  his  country  receive  him  ? 
Will  she  employ  in  her  councils,  or  in  her  armies,  the  man 
at  whom  the  "  slow,  unmoving  finger  of  scorn  "  is  pointed? 
Shall  he  betake  himself  to  the  fireside  ?  The  story  of  his 
disgrace  will  enter  his  own  doors  before  him. 

4.  And  can  he  bear,  think  you,  can  he  bear  the  sympa- 
thizing agonies  of  a  distressed  wife  ?  Can  he  endure  the 
formidable  presence  of  scrutinizing,  sneering  domestics? 
Will  his  children  receive  instruction  from  the  lips  of  a  dis- 
graced father  ?  Gentlemen,  I  am  not  ranging  on  fairy 
ground.  I  am  telling  the  plain  story  of  my  client's  wrongs. 
By  the  ruthless  hand  of  malice  his  character  has  been  wan- 
tonly massacred  ;  —  and  he  now  appears  before  a  jury  of  his 
country  for  redress.  Will  you  deny  him  this  redress  ?  Is 
character  valuable  ? 

5.  On  this  point  I  will  not  insult  you  with  argument. 
There  are  certain  things,  to  argue  which,  is  treason  against 
nature.  The  author  of  our  being  did  not  intend  to  leave 
this  afloat  at  the  mercy  of  opinion,  but  with  his  own  hand 
has  kindly  planted  in  the  soul  of  man  an  instinctive  love  of 
character.  This  high  sentiment  has  no  affinity  to  pride.  It 
is  the  ennobling  quality  of  the  soul ;  and  if  we  have  hither- 
to been  elevated  above  the  ranks  of  surrounding  creation, 
human  nature  owes  its  elevation  to  the  love  of  character. 

6.  It  is  the  love  of  character  for  which  the  poet  has  sung, 
the  philosopher  toiled,  the  hero  bled.  It  is  the  love  of  char- 
acter which  wrought  miracles  at  ancient  Greece ;  the  love 
of  character  is  the  eagle  on  which  Rome  rose  to  empire. 
And  it  is  the  love  of  character  animating  the  bosom  of  her 
sons,  on  which  America  must  depend  in  those  approaching 
crises  that  may  "  try  men's  souls."  Will  a  jury  weaken  this 
our  nation's  hope  ?  Will  they  by  their  verdict  pronounce  to 
the  youth  of  our  country,  that  character  is  scarce  worth  pos- 
sessing. 

7.  We  read  of  that  philosophy  which  caa  smile  over  the 
destruction  of  property,  — of  that  religion  which  enables  the 
possessor  to  extend  the  benign  look  of  forgiveness  to  his 
murderers.  But  it  is  not  in  the  soul  of  man  to  bear  the 
laceration  of  slander.  The  philosophy  which  could  bear  it, 
we  should  despise.  The  religion  which  could  bear  it,  we 
should  not  despise,  —  but  we  should  be  constrained  to  say, 
that  its  kincrdom  was  not  of  this  world. 


VERSES.  217 


LESSON  cm.     Verses. 

1.  If  I  had  thought  thou  couldst  have  died, 

I  might  not  weep  for  thee  ; 
But  I  forgot,  when  by  thy  side, 

That  thou  couldst  mortal  be. 
It  never  through  my  mind  had  passed, 

The  time  would  e'er  be  o'er, 
And  I  on  thee  should  look  my  last, 

And  thou  shouldst  smile  no  more ! 

2.  And  still  upon  that  face  I  look, 

And  think  't  will  smile  again ; 
And  still  the  thought  I  will  not  brook. 

That  I  must  look  in  vain  ! 
But  when  I  speak,  —  thou  dost  not  say, 

What  thou  ne'er  left'st  unsaid  ; 
And  now  I  foel,  as  well  I  may, 

Sweet  Mary !  thou  art  dead  ! 

3.  If  thou  wouldst  stay,  e'en  as  thou  art, 

All  cold  and  all  serene,  — 
I  might  still  press  thy  silent  heart. 

And  where  thy  smiles  have  been  1 
While  e'en  thy  chill,  bleak  corse  I  have, 

Thou  seemest  still  my  own  ; 
But  there  I  lay  thee  in  thy  grave,  — 

And  I  am  now  alone! 

4.  I  do  not  think,  where'er  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  forgotten  me  ; 
And  I,  perhaps,  may  soothe  this  heart 

In  thinking  too  of  thee. 
Yet  there  was  round  thee  such  a  dawa 

Of  light  ne'er  seen  before, 
As  fancy  never  could  have  drawn, 

And  never  can  restore ! 


19 


218  THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON   CIV.     The  Chamois  of  the  Alps. 

1.  Chamois  are  very  fearful,  certainly  not  without  suffi- 
cient cause,  and,  their  sense  of  smell  and  sight  being  most 
acute,  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  approach  them  within  the 
range  of  a  shot.  They  are  sometimes  hunted  with  dogs, 
but  oftener  without,  as  dogs  drive  them  away  to  places 
where  it  is  difficult  to  follow  them  ;  when  a  dog  is  used,  he 
is  to  be  led  silently  to  the  track,  which  he  never  will  after- 
wards lose,  the  scent  being  very  strong ;  the  hunter  in  the 
mean  time  chooses  a  proper  station  to  lie  in  wait  for  the 
game,  some  narrow  pass  through  which  its  flight  will  most 
likely  be  directed. 

2.  More  frequently  the  hunter  follows  his  dog,  with  which 
he  easily  keeps  pace  by  taking  a  straighter  direction,  but 
calls  him  back  in  about  an  hour,  when  he  judges  the  chamois 
to  be  a  good  deal  exhausted,  and  inclined  to  lie  down  to 
rest;  it  is  then  approached  with  less  difficulty.  An  old 
male  will  frequently  turn  against  the  dog,  when  pursued, 
and,  while  keeping  him  at  bay,  allows  the  hunter  to  ap- 
proach very  near. 

3.  Hunters,  two  or  three  in  company,  generally  proceed 
without  dogs ;  they  carry  a  sharp  hoe  to  cut  steps  in  the  ice, 
each  his  rifle,  hooks  to  be  fastened  to  his  shoes,  a  mountain 
stick  with  a  point  of  iron,  and  in  his  pouch  a  short  spy-glass, 
barley-cakes,  cheese,  and  brandy  made  of  gentian  or  cher- 
ries. Sleeping  the  first  night  at  some  of  those  upper 
chalets,  which  are  left  open  at  all  times,  and  always  provi- 
ded with  a  little  dry  wood  for  a  fire,  they  reach  their  hunt- 
ing-grounds at  daylight. 

4.  There,  on  some  commanding  situation,  they  gener- 
ally find  a  luegi,  as  it  is  called,  ready  prepared,  two  stones 
standing  upon  end,  with  sufficient  space  between  to  see 
through  without  being  seen  ;  there  one  of  the  hunters  creeps 
unperceived,  without  his  gun,  and,  carefully  observing  every 
way  with  his  spy-glass,  directs  his  companions  by  signs. 

5.  The  utmost  circumspection  and  patience  are  requisite 
on  the  part  of  the  hunter,  when  approaching  his  game ;  a 
windward  situation  would  infallibly  betray  him  by  the  scent; 
he  creeps  on  from  one  hiding-rock  to  another,  with  his  shirt 
^ver  his  clothes,  and  lies  motionless  in  the  snow,  often  for 


:» 


THE    CHAMOIS    OF    THE   ALPS.  2l9 

half  an  hour  together,  when  the  herd  appears  alarmed  and 
near  taking  flight. 

6.  Whenever  he  is  near  enough  to  distinguish  the  bending 
of  the  JiornSj  that  is,  about  the  distance  of  two  hundred  or 
two  hundred  and  fifty  steps,  he  takes  aim  '^  but  if,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  raising  his  piece,  the  chamois  should  look  towards 
him,  he  must  remain  perfectly  still;  the  least. motion  would 
put  them  to  flight  before  he  could  fire,  and  he  is  too  far  to 
risk  a  shot  otherwise  than  at  rest.  In  taking  aim  he  en- 
deavors to  pick  out  the  darkest  coat,  which  is  always  the 
fattest  animal ;  this  darkness  is  only  comparative,  for  the 
color  of  the  animal  varies  continually,  between  light  bay  in 
summer,  and  dark  brown,  or  even  black,  in  winter. 

7.  Accustomed  as  the  chamois  are  to  frequent  and  loud 
detonations  among  the  glaciers,  they  do  not  mind  the  report 
of  the  arms  so  much  as  the  smell  of  gunpowder,  or  the 
sight  of  a  man  ;  there  are  instances  of  the  hunter  having 
time  to  load  again,  and  fire  a  second  time  after  missing  the 
first,  if  not  seen.  No  one  but  a  sportsman  can  understand 
the  joy  of  him,  who,  after  so  much  toil,  sees  his  prey  fall ; 
with  shouts  of  savage  triumph  he  springs  to  seize  it,  up  to 
his  knees  in  snow,  despatches  the  victim  if  he  finds  it  not 
quite  dead,  and  often  swallows  a  draught  of  warm  bloody 
deemed  a  specific  against  giddiness. 

8.  He  then  takes  out  the  entrails  of  the  beast  to  lessen  its 
weight,  ties  the  feet  together,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  passhis 
arms  through  on  each  side,  and  then  proceeds  down  the 
mountain,  much  lighter  for  the  additional  load  he  carries. 
When  the  day  is  not  too  far  spent,  the  hunters,  hiding  care- 
fully their  game,  continue  the  chase.  At  home,  the  chamois 
is  cut  up,  and  the  pieces  salted  or  smoked  ;  the  skin  is  sold 
to  make  gloves  and  leather  breeches,  and  the  horns  are  hung 
up  as  a  trophy  in  the  family.  A  middle-sized  chamois  weighs 
from  fifty  to  seventy  pounds. 

9.  Not  unfrequently  the  best  marksman  is  selected  to  lie 
in  wait  for  the  game,  while  his  associates,  leaving  their 
rifles  loaded  by  him,  and  acting  the  part  of  hounds,  drive  it 
towards  the  spot.  Sometimes,  when  the  passage  is  too  nar- 
row, a  chamois,  reduced  to  the  last  extremity,  will  rush 
headlong  on  the  foe,  whose  only  resource  to  avoid  the  en- 
counter, which,  on  the  brink  of  precipices  must  be  fatal, 
is  to  lie  down  immediately  and  let  the  frightened  animal 
pass  over  him, 


220  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

10.  There  was  once  an  instance  of  a  herd  of  fourteen 
chamois,  which,  being  hard  pressed,  rushed  down  a  preci- 
pice to  certain  death,  rather  than  be  taken.  It  is  wonderful 
to  see  them  climb  abrupt  and  naked  rocks,  and  leap  from 
one  narrow  cliff  to  another,  the  smallest  projection  serving 
them  for  a  point  of  rest,  upon  which  they  alight,  but  only 
just  to  take  another  spring;  their  agility  made  people  be- 
lieve formerly  that  they  could  support  themselves  by  me^ns 
of  their  hooked  horns.  They  have  been  known  to  take 
leaps  of  twenty-five  feet  down  hill,  over  fields  of  snow. 

11.  The  leader  of  the  herd  is  always  an  old  female,  never 
a  male.  She  stands  watching  when  the  others  lie  down, 
and  rests  when  they  are  up,  and  feeds  listening  to  every 
sound,  and  anxiously  looking  round  ;  she  often  ascends  a 
fragment  of  rock,  or  heap  of  drifted  snow,  for  a  wide  field 
of  observation,  making  a  sort  of  gentle  hissing  noise  when 
she  suspects  any  danger.  But  when  the  sound  arises  to  a 
sharper  note,  the  whole  troop  flies  at  once  like  the  wind  to 
some  m.ore  remote  and  higher  part  of  the  mountain.  The 
death  of  this  old  leader  is  generally  fatal  to  the  herd. 

12.  Their  fondness  for  salt  makes  them  frequent  salt 
springs  and  salt  marshes,  where  hunters  lie  in  wait  for  them. 
The  latter  practise  also  a  very  odd  ruse  de  guerre ;  having 
observed  the  chamois  are  apt  to  approach  cattle  in  the  pas- 
tures, and  graze  near  them,  a  hunter  will  crawl  on  all  fours 
with  saU  spread  on  his  back  to  attract  the  cattle,  and  is  im- 
mediately surrounded  and  hid  by  them  so  completely,  that 
he  finds  no  difficulty  in  advancing  very  near  the  chamois, 
and  taking  a  sure  aim. 

13.  At  other  times,  a  hunter,  when  discovered,  will  drive 
his  stick  into  the  snow,  and  place  his  hat  on  the  top  of  it; 
then,  creeping  away,  go  round  another  way,  while  the  game 
remains  intent  on  the  strange  object,  which  it  still  sees  in 
the  same  place. 

14.  The  males  generally  live  apart,  and  only  come  near 
the  herd  in  November  and  Decemljer  ;  in  May  the  females 
bring  forth  their  young,  which  walk  from  the  moment  of 
their  birth,  and  are  very  pretty  and  tame.  When  caught 
they  are  easily  reared,  but  cannot  live  in  a  warmed  stable  in 
winter.  The  age  of  each  individual  is  known  by  the  num- 
ber of  rings  marked  on  its  horns,  each  year  adding  a  new 
one ;  in  winter  they  subsist  on  the  lichen  ciliaris  and  the 


DRESS.,  221 

lichen  barbatus  of  the  botanists,  not  unlike  Iceland  moss, 
and  on  the  young  shoots  and  the  bark  of  pines. 

15.  By  scratching  away  the  snow,  they  also  come  at 
the  grass  and  moss  on  the  ground  ;  and  it  frequently  happens, 
that  a  whole  bed  of  snow  sliding  off  a  steep  declivity,  lays 
bare  a  great  extent  of  pasture.  Those  that  frequent  forests, 
are  generally  larger  and  better  fed  than  those  which  live 
mostly  on  the  high  and  naked  parts  of  the  mountain,  but 
none  of  them  are  lean  in  winter ;  in  spring,  on  the  contra- 
ry, when  they  feed  on  new  grass,  they  become  sickly  and 
poor. 


LESSON  CV.     Dress, 

1.  In  no  way  has  civilized  man  played  more  fantastic 
tricks  than  in  the  matter  of  dress.  The  clumsy  and  incon- 
venient dress  of  the  savage  is  attributed  to  his  ignorance  of 
domestic  arts ;  but  what  can  be  said  in  excuse  for  civilized 
man,  when  he  wears  shoes,  that  project  half  a  yard  beyond 
his  feet,  or  exchanges  his  own  locks  for  an  enormous  peri- 
wig, filled  with  powder  and  pomatum ;  or  when  a  lady,  by 
various  absurdities  in  dress,  renders  it  difhcult  for  her  either 
to  walk  or  sit.  .  ^^  /  -m^,.    .-  ^,.     ', 

2.  One  extreme  leads  to  another.  I  have  seen  full  grown 
women  with  dresses  on  only  a  yard  and  a  half  wide  ;  while 
at  another  period,  the  ladies  at  court  were  so  encased  in 
hoops,  constructed  of  millinet  and  whalebone,  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  avoid  unpleasant  and  awkward  reo^ 
counters. 

3.  The  influence  of  fashion  is  so  strong  in  corrupting  the 
eye,  and  perverting  the  taste,  that  it  has  led  some  persons  to 
doubt  the  existence  of  any  true  standard  of  beauty  in  cos- 
tume ;  there  are,  however,  some  forms  of  dress  which  ap- 
pear beautiful  to  us,  after  they  have  ceased  to  be  the  reign- 
ing mode.  These  are  in  general  simple  and'  unpretending. 
The  occasional  triumph  of  good  taste  over  fashion  is  shown 
by  the  frequent  returns  of  pretty  shapes.  I  would  have 
young  people  look  at  every  thing  with  an  eye  of  taste,  and  so 
modify  their  compliance  with  the  prevailing  mode,  as  not  to 
sacrifice  to  it  their  sense  of  beauty. 

19* 


222  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

4.  Mere  fashion  should  never  be  allowed  to  triumph  over 
common  sense  or  good  taste.  Neither  do  I  mean  to  rec- 
ommend a  wide  departure  from  it ;  ingenuity  should  be 
called  up  to  invent  a  modification,  which  shall  combine 
beauty  with  fasiiion.  I  have  seen  two  young  ladies  with 
equal  pretensions  t6  personal  beauty,  one  of  whom  was  ar- 
rayed in  a  French  embroidered  pelerine,  that  cost  twenty- 
five  dollars ;  while  the  other  was  dressed  in  one  made  of 
plain  cajnbric,  edged  with  embroidery,  that  cost  two  dollars ; 
and  aaft  person  who  had  an  eye  for  beautiful  forms,  would 
have  piTefc|red  the  latter,  because  the  proportions  of  the 
lady's  cajre  and  figure  were  suited  to  each  other,  whereas 
the  other  had  chosen  a  cape  so  much  too  large  for  her,  that 
she  seemed  encumbered  by  her  finery. 

5.  Conversing  one  evening  at  a  brilliant  party  in  one  of 
our  southern  cities,  with  an  ingenious  gentleman,  who  had 
devoted  much  time  to  the  fine  arts,  having  studied  archi- 
tecture and  practised  modelling,  and  was  also  a  great  ob- 
server of  .femalp-iittire,  I  was  amused  to  hear  him  com- 
pare the  different  modes  of  dress  to  the  different  styles  of 
architecture. 

C.  When  be  saw  a  lady  dressed  with  great  simplicity,  and 
her  hair  naturally  arrayed,  he  called  that  style  of  dress 
Grecian.  One  more  elaborately  attired,  but  still  in  good 
taste,  reminded  him  of  the  ancient  Roman  style.  Anything 
cumbrous,  however  rich  its  material,  or  grand  its  form,  was 
called  Gothic.  And  when  u  lady  approaclied  us  covered 
with  finery,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  sho\veYed  upon  her 
from  a  band-box  held  over  her  head,  he  exclaimed,  "Here  is  a 
specimen  of  the  florid  Gothic."        / 

7.  He  never  could  bear  to  see'  bows  that  tied  nothing, 
rows  of  buttons  that  fastened  nothmg,  and  little  appendages 
that  had  no  real  or  apparent  use.  He  insisted,  that  in  dress, 
as  well  as  in  architecture,  all  beauty  was  founded  in  utility, 
and  asked  me  if  I  did  not  think,  that  columns  which  sup^ 
ported  nothing  would  look  very  badly. 

8.  He  said,  he  liked  to  see  borders  to  papered  walls,  be- 
cause they  hid  the  terminating  edge,  and  he  liked  to  see  la- 
dies gowns  trimmed  round  the  bottom  of  the  skirt,  because 
the  trimming  hid  the  hem,  and  was  a  handsome  finish  to  the 
figure ;  "  but,"  he  continued,  "  inasmuch  as  I  should  con- 
demn the  taste  that  made  a  paper  bordering  so  wide  as  to 


DRESS.  223 

cover  half  the  walls,  so  do  I  denounce  the  fashion  of  trim- 
niings  which  extend  half  way  up  the  skirt,  It  has  no  lon- 
ger the  effect  of  a  border  ;  it  is  an  overload  of  ornament, 
cuts  up  the  figure,  and  spoils  any  dress." 

9.  If  this  gentleman  had  lived  to  see  the  exaggeration  of 
the  present  day,  even  his  command  of  language  would  have 
been  taxed  to  find  terms  of  reprobation  sufficiently  strong 
for  a  leg  of  mutton,  or  a  balloon,  sleeve.  The  sight  of  a 
woman  carrying  a  projection  each  side  of  her,  larger  than 
her  body,  would  certainly  look  as  preposterous  to  him,  as 
an  edifice  in  which  the  wings  were  larger  than  the  main 
body. 

10.  Nothing  can  be  truly  beautiful  which  is  not  appropri». 
ate ;  all  styles  of  dress,  therefore,  which  impede  the  motions 
of  the  wearer,  which  do  not  sufficiently  protect  the  person, 
which  add  unnecessarily  to  the  heat  of  summer,  or  to  the 
cold  of  winter,  which  do  not  suit  the  age  and  occupation 
of  the  wearer,  or  which  indicate  an  expenditure  unsuited  to 
her  means,  are  inappropriate,  and  therefore  destitute  of  one 
of  the  essential  elements  of  beauty. 

11.  Propriety,  or  fitness,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  good 
taste  in  dressing.  Always  consider  whether  the  articles  of 
dress  which  you  wish  to  purchase  are  suited  to  your  age, 
your  condition,  or  your  means,  and  then  let  the  principles 
of  good  taste  keep  you  from  the  extremes  of  the  fashion, 
and  regulate  the  form  so  as  to  combine  utility  and  beauty. 

12.  Some  persons  seem  to  have  an  inherent  love  of  finery, 
and  adhere  to  it  pertinaciously ;  they  cannot  reason  upon 
this  preference  ;  they  can  only  say,  that  what  others  condemn 
as  tawdry,  looks  pretty  to  them.  No  plainness  of  dress  can 
ever  be  construed  to  your  disadvantage ;  but  ornamental 
additions,  which,  in  their  best  state,  are  a  very  doubtful 
good,  become  a  positive  evil,  when  defaced,  or  soiled,  or 
tumbled.  Shabby  feathers,  and  crushed  or  faded  artificial 
flowers,  are  an  absolute  disgrace  to  a  lady's  appearance, 
whereas  their  total  absence  would  never  be  remarked 
Cleanliness  is  the  first  requisite  in  a  lady's  dress. 


224  THE   FOURTH   READER. 


LESSON  C VI.     /  'm  pleased  and  yet  I  'm  sad. 

1.  When  twilight  steals  along  the  ground, 
And  all  the  bells  are  ringing  round, 

One,  two,  three,  four,  and  five  ; 
I  at  my  study  window  sit, 
And,  wrapped  in  many  a  musing  fit. 

To  bliss  am  all  alive. 

2.  But,  though  impressions,  calm  and  sweet, 
Thrill  round  my  heart  a  holy  heat, 

And  I  am  inly  glad. 
The  tear-drop  stands  in  either  eye, 
And  yet  I  cannot  tell  thee  why, 

I  'm  pleased,  and  yet  I  'm  sad. 

3.  The  silvery  rack  that  flies  away, 
Like  mortal  life  or  pleasure's  ray. 

Does  that  disturb  my  breast  ? 
Nay,  what  have  I,  a  studious  man. 
To  do  with  life's  unstable  plan, 

Or  pleasure's  fading  vest? 

4.  Is  it  that  here  I  must  not  stop, 
But  o'er  yon  blue  hill's  woody  top, 

Must  bend  my  lonely  way  ? 
No,  surely  no  !  for  give  but  me 
My  own  fireside,  and  I  shall  be 

At  home  where'er  I  stray. 

5.  Then  is  it  that  yon  steeple  there. 
With  music  sweet  shall  fill  the  air, 

When  thou  no  more  canst  hear? 
O,  no  !  O,  no  !  for  then  forgiven 
I  shall  be  with  my  God  in  heaven, 

Released  from  every  fear. 

6.  Then  whence  it  is  I  cannot  tell, 
But  there  is  some  mysterious  spell. 

That  holds  me  when  |^ra  glad; 


SCENES    ON    THE    HUDSON.  225 

And  so  the  tear-drop  fills  my  eye, 
When  yet  in  truth  I  know  not  why 
Or  wherefore  I  am  sad. 


LESSON  CVII.     Scenes  on  the  Hudson  River  in  Early 
Times. 

1.  WiLDNESS  and  savage  majesty  reigned  on  the  borders 
of  t^s  mighty  river  ;  the  hand  of  cultivation  had  not  as  yet 
laid  down^the  dark  liarests,  and  tamed  the  features  of  the 
landscape  ;  nor  had  the  frequent  sail  of  commerce  yet  brok- 
en in  upon  the  profound  and  awful  solitude  of  ages. 

2.  Here  and  there  might  be  seen  a  rude  wigwam,  perched 
among  the  cliffs  of  the  mountains,  with  its  curling  column 
of  smoke  mounting  in  the  transparent  atmosphere,  but  so 
loftily  situated,  that  the  whoppings  of  the  savage  children, 
gambolling  on  the  margin  of  the  dizzy  heights,  fell  almost 
as  faintly  on  the  ear,  as  do  the  notes  of  the  lark,  when  lost 
in  the  azure  vault  of  heaven.  Now  and  then,  from  the 
beetling  brow  of  some  rocky  precipice,  the  wild  deer  would 
look  timidly  down  upon  the  splendid  pageant  as  it  passed 
below;  and  then,  tossing  his  branching  antlers  to  the  air, 
would  bound  away  into  the  thickets  of  the  forest. 

3.  Through  such  scenes  did  the  stately  vessel  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant  pass.  Now  did  they  skirt  the  bases  of  the  rocky 
heights  of  Jersey,  which  spring  up  like  everlasting  walls, 
reaching  from  the  waves  into  the  heavens ;  and  were  fash- 
ioned, if  traditions  may  be  believed,  in  times  long  past,  by 
the  mighty  spirit  Manito,  to  protect  his  frontier  abodes 
from  the  unhallowed  eyes  of  mortals. 

4.  Now  did  they  career  it  gayly  across  the#vast  expanse  of 
Tappan  Bay,  whose  wide-extended  shores  present  a  vast  va- 
riety of  delectable  scenery;  here,  the  bold  promontory, 
crowned  with  embowering  trees,  advancing  into  the  bay  ; 
there,  the  long  woodland  slope,  swelling  up  from  the  shore 
in  rich  luxuriance,  arid  terminating  in  the  upland  precipice; 
while,  at  a  distance,  a  long,  waving  line  of  rocky  heights 
threw  their  gigantic  shades  across  the  water. 

5.  Now  would  they  pass  where  some  modest  little  inter- 
val, opening  among  these  stupendous  scenes,  yet  retreating, 


226  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

as  it  were,  for  protection,  into  the  embraces  of  the  neighbor- 
ing mountain^,  displayed  a  rural  paradise,  fraught  with  sweet 
^'nd  pastoral  beauties;  the  velvet-tufted  lawn,  —  the  bushy 
copse,  —  the  tinkling  rivulet,  stealing  through  the  fresh  ««d 
vivid  verdure,  —  on  whose  banks  was  situated  some  little 
Indian  village,  or,  peradventure,  the  rude  cabin  of  some 
solitary  hunter. 

6.  The  different  periods  of  the  revolving  day  seemed 
each,  with  cunning  magic,  to  diffuse  a  different  charm  over 
the  scene.  Now  would  the  jovial  sun  break  gloriously  from 
the  east,  blazing  from  the  summits  of  the  hills  and  sprinkling 
the  landscape  with  a  thousand  decoy  gems ;  while  along  the 
borders  of  the  river  were  seen  heavy  masses  of  mist,  which, 
like  midnight  caitiffs,  disturbed  at  his  approach,  made  a 
sluggish  retreat,  rolling  in  sullen  reluctance  up  the  moun- 
tains. 

7.  At  such  times  all  was  brightness  and  life  and  gayety  ; 
the  atmosphere  seemed  of  an  indescribable  pureness  and 
transparency ;  the  birds  broke  forth  in  wanton  madrigals, 
and  the  freshening  breezes  wafted  the  vessel  merrily  on  her 
course.  But  when  the  sun  sunk  amid  a  flood  of  glory  in 
the  west,  mantling  the  heavens  and  the  earth  with  a  thou- 
sand gorgeous  dyes,  —  then,  all  was  calm,  and  silent,  and 
magnificent. 

8.  The  late  swelling  sail  hung  lifelessly  against  the  mast,/ 
—  the  seamen  with  folded  arms  leaned  against  the  shrouds, 
lost  in  that  involuntary  musing  which  the  sober  grandeur  of 
nature  commands  in  the  rudest  of  her  children.  The  vast 
bosom  of  the  Hudson,  was  like  an  imruffled  mirror,  reflect- 
ing the  golden  splendor  of  the  heavens,  excepting  that  now 
and  then,  a  bark  canoe  would  start  across  its  surface,  filled 
with  painted  savages,  whose  gay  feathers  glared  brightly, 
as,  perchance,  a  lingering  ray  of  the  setting  sun  gleamed 
upon  them  from  the  western  mountains, 

9.  But  when  the  hour  of  twilight  spread  its  magic  mists 
around,  then  did  the  face  of  nature  resume  a  thousand  fugi- 
tive cltanne,  which,  to  the  worthy  heart,  that  seeks  enjoy- 
ment in  the  glorious  works  of  its  Maker,  are  inexpressibly 
captivating.  The  mellow,  dubious  light,  that  prevailed,  just 
served  to  tinge  with  illusive  colors,  the  softened  features  of 
the  scenery.  The  deceived,  but  delighted  eye  sought  vain- 
ly to  discern,  in  the  broad  masses  of  shade,  the  separating 


THE   IMMORTAL   MIND.  227 

Hne  between  the  land    and  water ;    or  to   distinguish  the 
fading  objects  that  seemed  sinking  into  chaos. 

10.  Now  did  the  busy  fancy  supply  the  feebleness  of  vis- 
ion, producing,  with  industrious  craft,  a  fairy  creation  of  her 
own.  Under  her  plastic  wand,  the  barren  rocks  frowned 
upon  the  watery  waste,  in  the  semblance  of  lofty  towers  and 
high  embattled  castles ;  trees  assumed  the  direful  forms  of 
mighty  giants ;  and  the  inaccessible  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains seemed  peopled  with  a  thousand  shadowy  beings. 

11.  Now  broke  forth  from  the  shores  the  notes  of  an  in- 
numerable variety  of  insects,  which  filled  the  air  with  a 
strange  but  not  inharmonious  concert ;  while  ever  and  anon 
was  heard  the  melancholy  plaint  of  the  whip-poor-will, 
who,  perched  on  some  lone  tree,  wearied  the  e^r  of  night 
with  his  incessant  moanings.  The  mind,  soothed  into  a 
hallowed  melancholy,  listened  with  pensive  stillness  to  catch 
and  distinguish  each  sound  that  vaguely  echoed  from  the 
shore,  now  and  then  startled,  perchance,  by  the  whoop  of 
some  straggling  savage,  or  the  dreary  howl  of  a  wolf,  steal- 
ing forth  upon  his  nightly  prowlings. 


LESSON   CVIII.     The  Immortal  Mind. 

1.  When  coldness  wraps  this  suffering  clay, 

Ah,  whither  strays  the  immortal  mind  ? 
It  cannot  die,  it  cannot  stay. 

But  leaves  its  darkened  dust  behindy' 
Then,  unembodied,  doth  it  trace, 

By  steps,  each  planet's  heavenly  way? 
Or  fill  at  once  the  realms  of  space, 

A  thing  of  eyes,  that  all  survey  ? 

2.  Eternal,  boundless,  undecayed, 

A  thought  unseen,  but  seeing  all, 
All,  all  in  earth  or  skies  displayed^ 

Shall  it  survey,  shall  it  recall  jr-** 
Each  fainter  trace  that  memory  holds 

So  darkly  of  departed  years, 
In  one  broad  glance  the  soul  beholds, 

And  all,  that  was,  at  once  appears. 


228  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

3.  Before  creation  peopled  earth, 

•Its  eye  shall  roll  through  chaos  back; 
And  whefe  the  furthest  heaven  had  birth, 

The  spirit  tra^.  its  rising  track. 
And  where  the  future  mars  or  makes, 

Its  glance  dilate  o'er  aJl  to  be. 
While  sun  is  quenched,  or  system  breaks; 

Fixed  in  its  own  eternity. 

4.  Above  all   love,   hope,  hate,  or    fear, 

It  lives  all  passionless  and  pure ; 
An  age  shall  fleet,  like  earthly  year; 

Its  years  as  moments  shall  endure. 
Away,  away,  without  a  wing. 

O'er  all,  through  all,  its  thoughts  shall  fly: 
A  nameless  and  eternal  thing, 

Forgetting  what  it  was  to  die. 


LESSON    CIX.     Robert  Emmett. 

1.  This  remarkable  and  interesting  victim  of  enthusias 
tic  but  ill-directed  patriotism  was  one  of  the  leaders  in  the 
Irish  rebellion  of  1803.  He  was  the  brother  of  the  late 
Thomas  Addis  Emmett,  a  distinguished  Irish  lawyer,  who 
settled  in  New  York,  and  died  there  in  18*27.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  respectable  physician,  possessed  a  handsome  for- 
tune, was  highly  educated,  and  endowed  with  uncommon 
genius. 

2.  Having  been  seized  and  brought  to  trial,  and  knowing 
that  his  fate  was  decided,  he  sought  not  to  save  his  life,  but 
to  shelter  his  name  and  fame  from  after  infamy.  The  fol- 
lowing is  the  closing  part  of  his  address  to  the  court. 

3.  "  Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  me 
with  dishonor ;  let  no  man  attaint  my  memory,  by  believing 
that  I  could  engage  in  any  cause  but  that  of  my  country's 
liberty  and  independence ;  or  that  I  could  become  the  pliant 
minion  of  power  in  the  oppression  or  the  miseries  of  my 
countrymen.  The  proclamation  of  the  provisional  govern- 
ment speaks  my  views;  from  which  no  inference  can  be 
tortured  to  countenance  barbaritv  or  debasement  at  home, 


ROBERT   EMMETT.  229 

or  subjection,  or  humiliation,  or  treachery  from  abroad.  I 
would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign  invader,  for  the  same 
reason  that  I  would  resist  the  domestic  oppressor.  In  the 
dignity  of  freedom,  I  would  have  fought  upon  the  threshold 
of  my  country,  and  its  enemies  should  enter  only  by  passing 
over  my  lifeless  corpse.  And  am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my 
country,  who  have  subjected  myself  to  the  dangers  of  the 
jealous  and  watchful  oppressor,  and  now  to  the  bondage  of 
the  grave,  only  to  give  my  countrymen  their  rights,  and  my 
country  her  independence,  to  be  loaded  with  calumny,  and 
not  suffered  to  resent  and  repel  it  ?     No  ;  God  forbid  ! 

4.  "  If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in 
the  concerns  and  cares  of  those  who  were  dear  to  them  in 
this  transitory  life,  —  oh  !  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade  of 
my  departed  father,  look  down  with  scrutiny  upon  the  con- 
duct of  your  suffering  son,  and  see  if  I  have  for  a  moment 
deviated  from  those  principles  of  morality  and  patriotism, 
which  it  was  your  care  to  instil  into  my  youthful  mind,  and 
for  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life. 

5.  *'  My  lords,  you  seem  impatient  for  the  sacrifice.  The 
blood  for  which  you  thirst,  is  not  congealed  by  the  artificial 
terrors  which  surround  your  victim ;  it  circulates  warmly 
and  unruffled  through  the  channels  which  God  created  for 
noble  purposes,  but  which  you  are  bent  to  destroy  for  pur- 
poses so  grievous,  that  they  cry  to  Heaven. 

6.  "  Be  yet  patient.  I  have  but  a  few  words  more  to  say  ; 
I  am  going  to  my  cold  and  silent  grave  ;  my  lamp  of  life  is 
nearly  extinguished  ;  my  race  is  run ;  the  grave  opens  to  re- 
ceive me ;  and  I  sink  into  its  bosom.  I  have  but  one  re- 
quest to  make  at  my  departure  from  this  world  ;  it  is  the  char- 
ity of  its  silence.  Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph ;  for,  as  no 
man  who  knows  my  motives  dares  now  vindicate  them,  let 
not  prejudice  nor  ignorance  asperse  them.  Let  them  and 
me  repose  in  obscurity,  and  my  tomb  remain  uninscribed, 
until  other  times  and  other  men  can  do  justice  to  my  charac- 
ter. When  my  country  takes  her  place  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  then,  and  not  till  then,  let  my  epitaph  be  writ- 
ten.    I  have  done." 

7.  Such  was  the  lofty  and  intrepid  bearing  of  Robert 
Emmett,  in  the  hopeless  hour  of  condemnation,  he  being 
then  but  twenty -one  years  of  age.     In  allusion  to  his  last  re- 

20 


230  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

quest,  the  *'  charity  of  the  world's  silence,"  the  poet  Moore 
thus  beautifully  mourns  his  fate. 

8.  "  O  breathe  not  his  name,  —  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade. 

Where  cold  and  unhonored  his  relics  are  laid,  — 
'  Sad,  silent,  and  dark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 

9.  "  But  the  night-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it  weeps, 

Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls." 


LESSON   ex.     The  Broken  Hmrr. 

1.  In  happier  days  and  fairer  fortooes,  Robert  Emmett, 
noticed  in  the  preceding  lesson,  had  won  the  affections  of 
a  beautiful  and  interesting  girl,  the  daughter  of  Curran,  a 
late  celebrated  Irish  barrister.  ,  She  loved  him  with  the  dis- 
interested fervor  of  a  woman's  first  and  only  love.  When 
every  worldly  maxim  arrayed  itself  against  him;  when 
blasted  in  fortune,  and  disgrace  and  danger  darkened 
around  his  name,  she  loved  him  the  more  ardently  for  his 
very  sufferings.  If,  then,  his  fate  could  awaken  the  sympa- 
thy even  of  his  fijcs,  what  must  have  been  the  agony  of  her 
whose  whole  soul  was  occupied  by  his  image]  Let  those 
tell  who  have  had  the  portals  of  the  tomb  suddenly  closed 
between  them  and  the  being  they  most  loved  on  earth, 
—  who  have  sat  at  its  threshold,  as  one  shut  out  in  a  cold 
and  lonely  world,  from  whence  all  that  was  most  lovely  and 
loving  had  departed. 

2.  But,  then,  the  horrors  of  such  a  grave!  — so  frightful, 
so  dishonored  !  There  was  nothing  for  memory  to  dwell  on, 
that  could  soothe  the  pang  of  separation,  — none  of  those 
tender,  though  melancholy  circumstances,  that  endear  the 
parting  scene,  —  nothing  to  melt  sorrow  into  those  blessed 
tears,  sent,  like  the  dews  of  heaven,  to  revive  the  heart  in 
the  parting  hour  of  anguish. 

3.  To  render  her  widowed  situation  more  desolate,  she 
had  incurred  her  father's  displeasure  by  her  unfortunate  at- 


THE   BROKEN    HEART.  231 

tachment,  and  was  an  exile  from  the  paternal  roof.  But, 
could  the  sympathy  and  kind  offices  of  friends  have  reached 
a  spirit  so  shocked  and  driven  in  by  horror,  she  would  have 
experienced  no  want  of  consolation  ;  for  the  Irish  are  a  peo- 
ple of  quick  and  generous  sensibilities.  The  most  delicate 
and  cherishing  attentions  were  paid  her  by  families  of  wealth 
and  distinction.  She  was  led  into  society,  and  they  tried  all 
kinds  of  occupation  and  amusement  to  dissipate  her  grief, 
and  wean  her  from  the  tragical  story  of  her  love.  But  it 
was  all  in  vain. 

4.  There  are  some  strokes  of  calamity,  that  scath  and 
scorch  the  soul,  —  that  penetrate  to  the  vital  seat  of  happi- 
ness, and  blast  it,  never  again  to  put  forth  bud  or  blossom. 
She  never  objected  to  frequent  the  haunts  of  pleasure,  but 
she  was  as  much  alone  there,  as  in  the  depths  of  solitude. 
She  walked  about  in  a  sad  reverie,  apparently  unconscious 
of  the  world  around  her.  She  carried  with  her  an  inward 
woe  that  mocked  at  all  the  blandishments  of  friendship,  and 
"  heeded  not  the  song  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so 
wisely." 

5.  The  story  of  one  so  true  and  tender,  could  not  but 
excite  great  interest  in  a  country  remarkable  for  enthusiasm. 
It  completely  won  the  heart  of  a  brave  officer,  who  paid  his 
addresses  to  her,  and  thought  that  one  so  true  to  the  dead, 
could  not  but  prove  affectionate  to  the  living.  She  declined 
his  attentions,  for  her  thoughts  were  irrevocably  engrossed 
by  the  memory  of  her  former  lover.  He,  however,  persisted 
in  his  suit.  He  solicited  not  her  tenderness,  but  her  esteem. 
He  was  assisted  by  her  conviction  of  his  worth,  and  her 
sense  of  her  own  destitute  and  dependent  situation,  for  she 
was  existing  on  the  kindness  of  friends.  In  a  word,  he  at 
length  succeeded  in  gaining  her  hand,  though  with  the  sol- 
emn assurance,  that  her  heart  was  unalterably  another's. 

6.  He  took  her  with  him  to  Sicily,  hoping  that  a  change 
of  scene  might  wear  out  the  remembrance  of  early  woes. 
She  was  an  amiable  and  exemplary  wife,  and  made  an  effort 
to  be  a  happy  one ;  but  nothing  could  cure  the  silent  and 
devouring  melancholy  that  had  entered  into  her  very  soul. 
She  wasted  away  in  a  slow  but  hopeless  decline,  and  at 
length  sank  into  the  grave,  the  victim  of  a  broken  heart. 


232  THE   FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  CXI.     Apelles  and  Protogenes. 

Apelles  was  a  Greek  artist,  in  the  time  of  Alexander  the  Great,  and 
has  been  oflen  called  the  "  Priuce  of  painters."  Protogenes  was  almost 
equally  celebrated.  The  incidents  here  related  took  place  about  325  years 
before  Christ.  No  specimens  of  tlie  paintings  of  either  artist  remain.  It  is 
probable  the  lines,  here  spoken  of,  were  slight  sketches.  Cos  and  Rhodes 
are  two  Greek  Islands. 

1.  "Is  Protogenes  at  home?"  inquired  a  young  man,  as 
he  entered  tlie  painting-room  of  the  artist  Protogenes. 

2.  "  No,  master,"  replied  an  old  woman,  who  was  seated 
near  a  panel  prepared  for  painting;  "No,  master;  he  has 
gone  forth  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  much  does  he  need  it, 
after  toiling  here  all  day.  It  is  his  custom,  at  the  approach 
of  evening,  to  go  down  to  the  sea-shore  and  snuff  the 
breezes,  that  come  skimming  over  the  water  from  the  Gre- 
cian isles." 

3.  "  Iff  he  then  so  laborious?  "  said  the  stranger. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure  he  is.  They  say  he  is  determined  to  ex- 
cel Apelles  of  Cos.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  never  thinks  his 
pictures  are  finished;  but  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  else  I 
might  say  life  is  too  short,  to  spend  three  or  four  years  in 
lingering,  still  unsatisfied,  over  the  same  picture." 

4.  "  Thy  life  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a  short  one, 
mother,"  said  the  stranger,  examining  the  lines  of  care  and 
sorrow,  which  had  strongly  marked  a  face  that  might  once 
have  been  handsome. 

She  looked  earnestly  at  him,  without  replying. 
"  I  have  urgent  business  with  Protogenes,"  said  the  stran- 
ger. 

5.  "  Very  well ;  leave  your  name,  and  fix  the  time  when 
you  will  come  again.  You  cannot  fail  of  finding  him  at 
home  when  the  sun  gets  above  yonder  loop-hole,  and  that  is 
about  the  tenth  hour  in  the  morning." 

The  stranger  drew  a  small  tablet  from  under  his  robe, 
and  seemed  to  be  about  writing  his  name  ;  suddenly  he 
approached  the  panel,  and,  taking  a  pencil  which  lay  near, 
drew  simply  a  line.  As  he  looked  up,  he  perceived  the  old 
woman  lookin.'T  intently  upon  it. 

*'  Look,  mother,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  canst  thou  read  that 
name?" 

6.  She  fixed  on  him  a  steady  look.     "  My  eyes,"  replied 


APELLES    AND    PROTOGENES.  233 

she,  **  are  dim  with  age,  and  I  never  was  taught  your  Greek 

letters ;  but  I  can  read  your  face." 
"  And  what  dost  thou  read  there? " 
"  That  which  my  master  is  seeking,  —  Truths 
"  Dost  thou  think  I  am  looking  for  it  at  the  bottom  of  a 

well?  "  said  the  stranger,  smiling. 

"  Ah,"  replied  she,  changing  at  once  her  air  and  manner 

into  one  of  wild  sublimity.  —  "  Thou  art  not  born  to  look 

down  upon  it,  but  up,  up !  "  and  she  raised  her  hand  and 

pointed  upwards. 

7.  "Art  thou  a  soothsayer,  good  mother?"  said  the 
youth,  with  reverence. 

"  Who,"  replied  she,  with  solemnity,  "  that  has  lived  to  see 
the  raven  hair  turn  to  snow,  —  who,  that  has  watched  the 
sapling  as  it  grew  into  the  sturdy  oak,  and  has  beheld  gen- 
eration after  generation  swept  away,  —  who,  that  has  seen 
all  this,  and  yet  stands  blasted  and  alone,  is  not  a  soothsayer? 
Ay,  young  master,  age  and  sorrow  have  the  gift  of  reading 
the  future  by  the  past." 

8.  "  Thou  canst  number  many  years  ? "  said  the  youth,  in- 
quiringly. 

She  shook  her  head,  —  "I  have  outlived  all  that,"  said 
she, — "I  count  not  by  years.  I  know  not  how  many 
times  the  winter  has  come  round ;  life  has  been  one  long 
winter  to  me." 

**  May  I  ask,"  said  the  stranger,  with  increasing  interest, 
"  if  you  are  a  Greek?" 

"  I  am  of  no  nation,  of  no  country,"  replied  she;  "  I  was 
once  a  Persian." 

9.  The  stranger  at  once  comprehended,  that  she  might 
ha-¥e  been  torn  as  a  captive  from  her  native  land ;  for  the 
bloody  laurels  of  Asia  were  yet  fresh  upon  Alexander's 
young  brow,  and  he  hastily  changed  a  subject  which  seem- 
ed to  awaken  such  bitterly  painful  feelings. 

"My  errand  to  Rhodes  was  to  see  Protogenes,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  cannot  depart  without  an  interview." 

10.  The  old  woman  arose,  and  going  towards  the  lattice, 
looked  at  the  sun,  as  it  was  fast  sinking  into  the  ocean. 
"He  will  be  here  directly,  if  you  will  have  brief  patience," 
said  she.  This  information  rather  seemed  to  hasten  the 
youth  away,  for  he  immediately  disappeared. 

11.  When   Protogenes  returned,  the  old  woman  said  to 

20* 


234  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

him,  "There  has  been  a  stranger  inquiring  for  the  master  of 
the  house." 

*'  What  name  did  he  leave  1 "  said  Protogenes. 

"  That  I  may  not  say,"  replied  she,  "  but  he  has  written 
it  there." 

Protogenes  drew  near,  and  looked  earnestly  at  the  line. 
Suddenly  taking  the  pencil,  he  drew  another  under  it. 

12.  "  He  is  well  acquainted  with  the  name  of  Proto- 
genes," said  the  old  woman,  "  it  needs  not  to  be  written. 
He  will  be  here  to-morrow  at  the  tenth  hour." 

"  I  shall  not  be  at  home  at  that  hour,"  replied  the  master; 
*'  when  he  comes,  show  him  this,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
second  line. 

13.  The  next  morning,  as  the  old  woman  saw  Protogenes 
go  out,  "  Ah  well,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  can  age  calculate 
upon  the  caprice  of  youth  ?  I  could  have  sworn  this  was 
an  hour  he  would  be  at  home." 

14.  Again  the  stranger  made  his  appearance.  "  It  is  not 
my  fault,"  said  she,  "  that  Protogenes  seeks  the  morning 
air  ;  but  he  has  written  his  name  under  thine." 

The  stranger  stood  before  the  panel,  and  gazed  atten- 
tively upon  it.  Then  seizing  another  pencil,  he  drew  a 
third  line. 

"Father  Zoroaster! "  exclaimed  the  old  woman  with  hor- 
ror, *'  thou  hast  written  thy  name  in  blood." 

15.  "Nay,  good  mother,"  said  the  youth,  "it  is  written 
with  such  a  pencil  as  serves  Protogenes; — look,  I  found  it 
here,  and  here  I  leave  it." 

The  emotion  of  the  old  woman  subsided.  "That  is 
true,"  replied  she.  "  I  am  old  and  failing,  and  sometimes 
everything  around  me  seems  written  in  characters  of  blood. 
I  have  seen  that  of  my  country  and  kindred  flowing  in  riv- 
ers !     Well  may  I  shudder,  even  at  the  sight  of  it." 

16.  "  Tell  me,  mother,  what  may  I  call  thy  name  ?  "  said 
the  stranger. 

"  I  tell  thee,  I  have  no  nation  and  no  name,"  replied  she, 
wildly.  "  When  I  was  young  and  had  smiling  babes  about 
me,  they  called  me  Zara." 

"  Farewell,"  said  the  youth,  as  he  quitted  the  dwelling. 
Protogenes  returned  immediately  after  his  visiter  had  de- 
parted. 

17.  He  again  approached  the  panel,  and  observed  the 
new  charaoter  inscribed  there. 


THE    BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  It  is  he,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  knew  it  could  be  no  other ! " 
**  It  is  not  well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  to  have  thy  pan- 
el thus  defaced ; "  and  she  took  a  piece  of  pumice  stone^ 
with  the  intention  of  erasing  the  lines. 

18.  *'  Not  for  a  thousand  worlds,"  exclaimed  the  artist, 
motioning  her  away,  while  he  stood  gazing,  as  if  enraptured. 
*'  It  will  go  down  to  posterity.  Woman,  if  all  the  treasures 
of  thine  own  Persepolis,  with  every  monument  of  Grecian 
art,  were  heaped  upon  thee,  thou  couldst  not  purchase  such 
a  line  as  that ;  and  were  the  whole  circle  of  immortal  sci- 
ences at  thy  command,  thou  couldst  not  draw  it." 

19.  *' Ay,"  said  she  in  return;  "a  broader  and  a  deeper 
one  is  drawn  upon  my  heart,  by  a  murderer's  hand." 

''  Dwell  not  on  thy  melancholy  history,  good  Zara,"  said 
the  artist  kindly  ;  ''it  will  make  both  thee  and  me  too  sad. 
But  come,  if  thou  hast  any  of  the  gifts  of  thy  magic,  come 
and  divine  the  name  of  this  stranger." 

Zara  slowly  approached  the  panel.  *'  Thou  wilt  not  let 
me  rub  it  out  1 "  said  she  inquiringly. 

"  Not  for  the  throne  of  Alexander,"  said  he;  "  an  empire 
could  not  replace  it." 

20.  "  In  truth,  then,  I  will  read  it  to  thee,  —  Apelles  of 
Cos." 

21.  "  Thou  art  indeed  a  very  soothsayer,"  said  Protogenes, 
laughing ;  "  but  perhaps  he  revealed  to  thee  his  name '?  " 

"Thinkest  thou,"  said  she,  "that  the  mind  has  no 
knowledge  but  through  the  outer  senses?  Thinkest  thou 
there  are  no  signs  of  the*  spirit  that  animates  the  man  ? 
Whom  hast  thou  called  upon  even  in  thy  sleep,  but  Apelles 
of  Cos?  What  has  stimulated  thee  to  labors  of  the  pencil 
beyond  thy  strength,  but  the  fame  of  Apelles?  I  behold 
thee  thus  enraptured  at  the  tracery  of  these  simple  lines, 
and  thou  sayest  this  name  will  go  down  to  posterity;  —  who 
can  have  drawn  them  but  Apelles  of  Cos  ?  " 


LESSON    CXII.     The  Black  Sheep. 

1.  The  scale  of  human  happiness  is  more  equally  bal- 
anced than  might  at  first  appear.  Those  who  are  deemed 
the  most  fortunate,  and  who,  to  a  hasty  observer,  seem  to 


236  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

have  no  bitterness  in  the  cup  of  life,  on  closer  observation, 
have  usually  been  found  to  have  some  settled  sorrow,  real  or 
imaginary,  which  sinks  them  to  the  common  level  of  other 
men.  The  story  of  the  Black  Sheep  is  perhaps  to  the 
point. 

2.  A  philosopher,  in  search  of  one  whom  he  could  call  per- 
fectly happy,  traverses  the  world.  He  traces  the  steps  of  kings 
in  their  palaces,  —  the  business  man  in  his  walks,  —  the  beg- 
gar in  his  hovel.  Splendid  care,  anxiety,  and  want  are  depict- 
ed in  many  a  face,  and  felt  in  many  a  heart.  Returning 
in  despair  to  find  the  object  of  his  search,  the  philosopher 
is  hurrying  home  to  his  solitude,  when  his  steps  are  ar- 
rested by  the  appearance  of  a  young  shepherd  reclining 
upon  the  declivity  of  a  sun-lit  hill,  with  his  crook  by  his 
side,  and  his  flocks  grazing  at  his  feet.  The  quiet  depicted 
in  his  face  added  to  the  calm  which  an  undisturbed  sleep 
had  spread  upon  his  features. 

3.  The  philosopher  seats  himself  by  the  side  of  the  shep- 
herd, and  waits  till  he  should  wake.  The  man  of  wisdom 
beholds  a  beautiful  country  beyond  the  mountains,  and  the 
waters  which  lay  in  perspective ;  he  sees  a  neat  cottage 
at  the  base  of  the  hill  on  which  the  shepherd  is  reposing : 
the  bleating  of  flocks  and  the  song  of  birds  make  vocal  the 
green  valleys  and  the  fruitful  plain. 

4.  The  youth  starts  from  his  slumbers.  "  Good  day, 
father."  "Good  day,  my  son,"  was  the  reply.  "This  is 
your  home,  and  these  are  your  occupations,  to  tend  your 
fleecy  care ?"  says  the  sage.  "Truly  so,"  answered  the 
youth.  "  That,  too,  is  your  wife,  and  those  are  your  chil- 
dren," continues  the  philosopher.  "They  are,"  returns  the 
shepherd.  "What  then,  my  son,  have  you  to  wish  or  to 
hope  for,  beyond  the  joys  of  your  own  threshold,  and  the 
possessions  of  your  own  lands?"  "Nothing,"  says  the 
youth.  *'  You,  then,  are  truly  content,  and  your  cup  is  full 
to  overflowing.  Thank  heaven  for  your  blessings,  and  may 
you  live  long  to  enjoy  them." 

5.  The  wise  man  is  about  to  depart,  satisfied  that  the  man 
at  last  is  discovered,  whom  he  could  pronounce  to  be  perfect- 
ly happy.  "  Stay,  father,"  exclaims  the  shepherd,  "  do  you 
see  that  black  sheep  ?  He  is  the  leader  of  the  flock,  but  full 
of  mischief,  hurrying  me  in  many  and  many  a  chase,  over 
briers,  through  bogs,  and  along  the  far-off  pathway  of  the . 


SABBATH   MORNING.  237 

hills.  He  earries  with  him  the  whole  tribe  of  followers; 
and  it  is  often  in  the  meridian  heat  or  at  the  set  of  sun, 
when  the  toils  of  the  day  have  exhausted  me,  that  I  am  led 
many  a  weary  mile  to  gather  the  scattered  sheep  within 
the  folds.  He  is  my  constant  trouble ;  I  sleep  but  to  dream 
of  the  vexations  which. he  causes  me,  and  wake,  alas,  but  to 
find  them  real."  *'  Enough,"  said  the  philosopher,  and 
grasping  his  wand,  with  a  hastening  pace  he  resumes  his 
homeward  steps,  murmuring  by  the  way,  "  Every  one  has 
his  black  sheep." 

6.  This  allegory  teaches,  that  although  life  has  many 
pleasures,  yet  it  affords  not  perfect  happiness.  Something 
comes  to  mar  the  bliss  of  every  one,  and  admonish  him,  that 
he  must  look  for  unalloyed  bliss  only  in  another  world. 


LESSON  CXni.     Sahhath  Morning. 

1.  Every  Sabbath  morning,  in  the  summer  time,  I  thrust 
back  the  curtain,  to  watch  the  sunrise  stealing  down  a  stee- 
ple which  stands  opposite  my  chamber  window.  First,  the 
weather-cock  begins  to  flash  ;  then  a  fainter  lustre  gives  the 
spire  an  airy  aspect ;  next  it  encroaches  on  the  tower,  and 
causes  the  index  of  the  dial  to  glisten  like  gold,  as  it  points 
to  the  gilded  figure  of  the  hour.  Now,  the  loftiest  window 
gleams,  and  now  the  lower.  The  carved  frame-work  of  the 
portal  is  marked  strongly  out. 

2.  At  length,  the  morning  glory,  in  its  descent  from 
heaven,  comes  down  the  stone  steps,  one  by  one;  and  there 
stands  the  steeple,  glowing  with  fresh  radiance,  while  the 
shades  of  twilight  still  hide  themselves  among  the  nooks  of 
the  adjacent  buildings.  Methinks,  though  the  same  sun 
brightens  it  every  fair  morning,  yet  the  steeple  has  a  pecu- 
liar robe  of  brightness  for  the  Sabbath. 

3.  By  dwelling  near  a  church,  a  person  soon  contracts  an 
attachment  for  the  edifice.  We  naturally  personify  it,  and 
conceive  its  massive  walls,  and  its  dim  emptiness,  to  be  in- 
stinct with  a  calm,  and  meditative,  and  somewhat  melan- 
choly spirit.  But  the  steeple  stands  foremost  in  our  thoughts, 
as  well  as  locally.     It  impresses  us  as  a  giant,  with  a  mind 


238  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

comprehensive  and  discriminating  enough  to  care  for  the 
great  and  small  concerns  of  all  the  town. 

4.  Hourly,  while  it  speaks  a  moral  to  the  few  that  think, 
it  reminds  thousands  of  busy  individuals  of  their  separate 
and  most  secret  aflfairs.  It  is  the  steeple,  too,  that  flings 
abroad  the  hurried  and  irregular  accents  of  general  alarm ; 
neither  have  gladness  and  festivity  found  a  better  utterance 
than  by  its  tongue ;  and,  when  the  dead  are  slowly  passing 
to  their  home,  the  steeple  has  a  melancholy  voice  to  bid 
them  welcome. 

5.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  connexion  with  human  interests, 
what  a  moral  loneliness,  on  week  days,  broods  round  about 
its  stately  height !  It  has  no  kindred  with  the  houses  above 
which  it  towers ;  it  looks  down  into  the  narrow  thoroughfare, 
the  lonelier,  because  the  crowd  are  elbowing  their  passage 
at  its  base.  A  glance  at  the  body  of  the  church  deepens 
this  impression. 

6.  Within,  by  the  light  of  distant  windows,  amid  refract- 
ed shadows,  we  discern  the  vacant  pews  and  empty  galler- 
ies, the  silent  organ,  the  voiceless  pulpit,  and  the  clock, 
which  tells  to  solitude  how  time  is  passing.  Time,  —  where 
man  lives  not,  —  what  is  it  but  eternity? 

7.  And  in  the  church,  we  might  suppose,  are  garnered 
up,  throughout  the  week,  all  thoughts  and  feelings  that 
have  reference  to  eternity,  until  the  holy  day  comes  round 
again,  to  let  them  forth.  Might  not,  then,  its  more  appro- 
priate site  be  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  with  space  for 
old  trees  to  wave  around  it,  and  throw  their  solemn  shadows 
over  a  quiet  green  ? 

8.  But,  on  the  Sabbath,  I  watch  the  earliest  sunshine,  and 
fancy  that  a  holier  brightness  marks  the  day,  vhen  there 
shall  be  no  buzz  of  voices  on  the  Exchange,  nor  traffic  in 
the  shops,  nor  crowd,  nor  business,  anywhere  but  at  church. 
Many  have  fancied  so.  For  my  own  part,  whether  I  see  it 
scattered  down  among  tangled  w^oods,  or  beaming  broad 
across  the  fields,  or  hemmed  in  between  brick  buildings,  or 
tracing  out  the  figure  of  the  casement  on  my  chamber  floor, 
still  I  recognise  the  Sabbath  sunshine. 

9.  And  ever  let  me  recognise  it !  Some  illusions,  and 
this  among  them,  are  the  shadows  of  great  truths.  Doubts 
may  flit  around  me,  or  seem  to  close  their  evil  wings,  and 
settle  down ;  but,  so  long  as  I  imagine  that  the  earth  is  hal- 


THE    FRIENDS    OR    QUAKERS.  239 

lowed,  and  the  light  of  heaven  retains  its  sanctity,  on  the 
Sabbath,  —  while  that  blessed  sunshine  lives  within  me,  — 
never  can  my  soul  have  lost  the  instinct  of  its  faith.  If  it 
have  gone  astray,  it  will  return  again. 


LESSON   CXIV.      The  Friends  or  Quakers. 

1.  Let  it  not  be  supposed,  that  the  life  of  a  Friend  has  no 
charms.  It  is  the  circle  contracted,  yet  full  of  quiet  com- 
forts. It  is  the  paradise  of  the  peaceful  and  domestic,  —  of 
those  who  shrink  from  the  vanities  and  the  stir  of  the  world, 
and  who  love  to  go  through  the  earth  in  a  plentiful  tranquil- 
lity. The  Indian,  the  prisoner,  the  penitent  sinner,  arid 
the  unhappy  and  sinned  against,  children  and  adults,  who 
need  instruction  and  reformation*,  who  need  food  or  clothing, 
employment  in  health,  medicine  in  sickness,  comfort  in 
distress,  all  these  are  the  objects  of  their  care,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  their  conversation. 

2.  It  is  curious  to  go  into  some  of  their  families  and  see 
the  articles  of  dress  that  are  making,  —  the  books  that  are 
piled  up  for  distribution,  —  the  tracts  and  pamphlets  that 
young  women  are  stitching,  or  folding  for  the  same  purpose. 
There  are  no  people  who  are  oppressed  in  any  part  of  the 
world,  —  the  Africans,  the  Indians,  the  CafTres,  the  Poles,  — 
but  they  are  their  friends ;  there  is  no  national  scheme  in 
operation  for  the  relief  of  misery,  the  dissipation  of  igno- 
rance, the  destruction  of  the  grand  fallacies  of  war  and 
political  expediency,  but  they  are  engaged  in  it ;  it  is  their 
business  and  their  topic.     If  we  except  missionary  projects, 

—  from  which  their  peculiar  religious  views  have  in  a  great 
degree  restrained  them,  —  there  are  scarcely  any  societies, 

—  Bible,  Tract,  Peace,  Temperance  Societies, — that  they 
are  not  active  members  and  supporters  of. 

3.  From  the  very  origin  of  this  society,  this  has  been  a 
feature  of  it,  which  has  never,  for  a  moment,  become  less 
prominent.  It  is  of  these  things  that  they  converse,  and  it  is 
on  these,  and  such  as  these,  that  they  spend  that  money  which 
is  saved  from  theatres  and  operas,  —  from  the  clubs  and 
gaming-tables  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed,  that  there  is  some- 
thing beautiful  in  the  appropriation  of  that  expense  to  the 


240  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

soothing  of  human  ills,  and  the  raising  of  the  human  char- 
acter, which  they  deny  to  fashion,  splendor,  and  dissipation. 

4.  When  I  have  been,  on  some  occasions,  induced  to  ac- 
cuse them  of  unnecessary  scrupulosity,  of  undue  crushing 
down  of  the  imagination,  of  injurious  taming  and  contract- 
ing of  the  feelings,  —  here  is  the  part  of  their  character, — 
the  breaking  forth  of  their  feelings  again,  in  a  noble,  and 
perpetual  stream, — the  evidence  of  the  clinging  of  their 
imaginations  to  the  struggles  and  cries  of  humanity,  in  all 
its  trials  and  its  abodes,  however  distant, — which  has  in- 
duced me  to  give  full  testimony  to  these,  as  highly  redeem- 
ing qualities  ;  for  they  are  full  of  the  poetry  of  Christianity. 

5.  For  this  generous  and  unwearied  philanthropy,  they 
deserve  the  highest  honor  ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe, 
after  all,  notwithstanding  the  apparent  insipidity  of  their 
mode  of  life,  —  notwithstanding  the  energies  they  subdue, 
and  the  excitements  they  avoid,  —  that  the  purity  and  be- 
nevolence of  their  spirits  bring  them  far  nearer  to  happi- 
ness, than  all  the  fascinations  they  renounce  do  those  who 
embrace  them. 


LESSON   CXV.     Adherence  to  Old  Customs. 

1.  There  is  more  or  less  reverence  for  the  past  in  all 
countries.  It  is  the  tendency  of  human  nature,  wherever  it 
may  be  found,  to  fall  into  the  beaten  path,  and  follow  it  out. 
"  Custom,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  *'  is  the  principal  magistrate 
of  man's  life."  But  there  is  something  in  the  tenacity  with 
which  the  Irish  hold  on  to  the  thoughts,  opinions,  and  usa- 
ges of  past  ages,  which  appears  to  surpass  anything  of  the 
kind  to  be  found  among  other  European  nations. 

2.  This  is  strikingly  illustrated  by  an  adherence  to  their 
political  system,  for  more  than  a  thousand  years,  although 
experience  had  demonstrated  that  system  to  be  destructive 
of  the  peace,  happiness,  and  prosperity  of  the  nation.  This 
national  trait  is  also  displayed  in  the  numerous  relics  of  an- 
cient superstitions  which  are  still  preserved  by  the  people, 
ahhough  the  systems  upon  which  they  were  founded  have 
been  swept  away  for  almost  Meen  hundred  years. 


ADHERENCE   TO  OLD    CUSTOMS.  241 

3.  Many  of  the  prevalent  customs  of  Ireland,  at  the  pres- 
ent day,  many  of  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  observances  of 
the  people  are  evidently  the  cherished  fragments  of  pagan- 
ism, saved  from  the  wreck  of  Persian  fire-worship,  Carthagin- 
ian idolatry,  or  Druidical  superstition.  It  would  exceed  my 
present  limits  to  go  into  a  detailed  examination  of  these  ;  it 
is,  perhaps,  only  necessary  to  remark,  that  the  perpetuation 
of  the  ancient  Celtic  tongue  among  the  Irish,  is  not  more 
plain  and  palpable,  than  the  preservation  of  ideas  and  senti- 
ments as  ancient  as  that  language  itself 

4.  It  is  easy  to  perceive  the  conservative  tendency  of  this 
natural  characteristic  in  the  Irish ;  and  we  may  readily  be- 
lieve, that  this  has  had  its  share  of  influence  in  saving  the 
people  from  that  waste  and  disintegration  which  the  shock 
of  ages  brings  upon  mankind.  The  direct  operation  of  this 
adherence  to  old  customs  is  to  unite  the  people  by  a  strong 
bond  of  common  sympathy.  Such  a  community  will  rally 
as  one  man  to  drive  out  any  foreign  people  who  come  with 
new  customs  to  overturn  the  old  ones. 

5.  A  slight  examination  of  Irish  history  will  show  that 
facts  have  abundantly  proved  the  truth  of  this  theory.  No 
foreign  people  have  ever  been  able  to  sustain  themselves  in 
Ireland.  The  Carthaginian  colonists  were  successively 
melted  down  and  mingled  in  the  mass  of  the  nation. 

6.  The  Danes,  though  they  occupied  certain  portions  of 
the  country  for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  being  of  too 
stubborn  a  stock  to  become  assimilated  with  those  among 
whom  they  dwelt,  and  over  whom  they  exercised  at  least 
partial  dominion,  were  the  unceasing  objects  of  hostility, 
and,  at  last,  were  expelled  from  a  country  which  they  could 
not  subdue.  England  bowed  to  the  iron  sway  of  the  Danes, 
and  was  only  delivered  from  it  by  catling  in  foreign  aid;  but 
Ireland  never  yielded  to  their  dominion,  and,  by  her  own 
arm,  at  last,  freed  herself  from  these  ruthless  oppressors. 

7.  It  is  now  almost  seven  hundred  years  since  Ireland 
was  conquered  by  an  English  King;  but  for  at  least  five 
centuries  after  that  conquest,  the  dominion  of  England  over 
Ireland  was  little  more  than  nominal.  From  the  time  of 
Strongbow's  invasion  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Second,  to 
the  period  of  Elizabeth,  though  Ireland  was  regarded  as  an 
appendage  to  the  British  crown,  two  thirds  of  the  Irish  peo- 

21 


243  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

pie   held   themselves,   at  least    in   practice,  almost   wholly 
independent  of  foreign  control. 

8.  And  even  down  to  the  present  day,  though  there  be  an 
ostensible  submission  to  England,  there  is  a  perpetual  strug- 
gle on  the  part  of  the  nation  to  heave  off  the  giant  that  has 
thrown  her  down.  After  seven  hundred  years  of  either 
nominal  or  real  dominion,  England  has  been  unable  to  an- 
glicize Ireland.  Not  only  is  the  government  still  resisted  by 
the  Irish  people,  but  the  religion,  the  customs,  the  opinions, 
and  feelings  of  England  are  obstinately  kept  at  bay  by  a 
large  part  of  the  nation. 

9.  Among  the  many  instances  furnished  by  Miss  Edge- 
worth  in  illustration  of  the  adherence  of  the  Irish  to  old 
customs,  she  tells  us  of  a  wealthy  young  nobleman,  who 
built  a  neat  cottage,  with  all  the  modern  comforts  and  conven- 
iences, for  an  old  Irish  woman.  On  going  to  the  place  a  few 
weeks  after  she  had  taken  possession,  he  found  that  she  had 
converted  it,  as  far  as  possible,  into  an  Irish  cabin.  Even 
the  fire-place  was  disregarded,  and  a  fire  was  built  in  the 
middle  of  the  brick  floor,  the  smoke,  of  course,  filling  the 
room.  The  woman  explained  this  by  insisting,  that  she  was 
so  accustomed  to  smoke,  she  could  not  live  without  it ! 

10.  It  may  be  said,  and  with  much  justice,  that  this  sturdy 
adherence  to  old  customs  partakes  of  obstinacy  and  preju- 
dice, and  it  may  be  among  the  causes  of  that  tardy  march 
of  improvement,  which  may  be  remarked  in  Ireland. 

11.  But,  if  the  Irish  people  miss  the  true  end  of  existence 
by  adhering  to  old  customs,  permit  me  to  suggest  the  cau- 
tion, that  we  do  not  rashly  run  into  the  opposite  extreme.  In 
a  country  like  ours,  having  no  antiquity,  and  opening  bound- 
less fields  of  enterprise  to  all,  we  are  apt  to  think  only  of  the 
future,  and,  in  our  eagerness  to  lead  in  the  race,  to  forget 
those  more  than  golden  treasures  which  consist  of  memories, 
and  sentiments,  and  usages. 

12.  The  truth  is,  man  is  not  made  wholly  for  action,  but 
partly  for  contemplation.  He  is  placed  between  two  glori- 
ous mirrors,  anticipation  and  retrospection ;  the  one  beck- 
oning him  forward,  the  other  reflecting  light  upon  the  path 
he  should  follow,  and  breathing  a  cool  and  wholesome  at- 
mosphere over  his  passions.  It  is  a  departure  from  the  just 
balance  of  his  nature  to  dash  either  of  these  in  pieces. 

13.  Whoever  limits  his  existence  to  "  that  fleeting  strip 


THE   WILD    VIOLET  243 

of  sunlight,  which  we  call  now,^^  reduces  himself  like  the 
ticking  clock,  to  a  mere  measure  of  passing  seconds.  He 
who  lives  only  in  the  future,  never  pausing  to  look  back  and 
take  counsel  of  the  past,  never  bending  his  gaze  over  the 
world  of  retrospection,  softened  with  the  mist  and  moonlight 
of  memory,  —  lives  the  life  of  the  restless  settler  of  the  far 
West,  who  never  stops  to  secure  or  enjoy  what  has  been  won 
from  the  wilderness,  but  still  pushes  on  and  on,  for  scenes 
of  new  excitement  and  new  adventure. 

14.  A  wise  man  and  a  wise  people  will  use  the  past  as  the 
prophet  of  the  future,  and  make  both  of  these  subservient  to 
the  interests  of  each  passing  moment.  The  children  of  Is- 
rael would  not  stay  in  Egypt,  but,  in  going  to  the  land  of 
Promise,  they  took  the  bones  of  their  father  Jacob  with 
them.  In  pressing  forward  in  the  march  of  improvement, 
let  us,  in  like  manner,  bear  along  with  us  the  experience,  the 
wisdom,  the  virtue,  and  the  religion,  of  our  fathers. 


LESSON  CXVI.     Tha  Wild  Violet. 

Violet,  violet,  sparkling  with  dew, 

Down  in  the  meadow-land,  wild  where  you  grew, 

How  did  you  come  by  the  beautiful  blue 

With  which  your  soft  petals  unfold  ? 
And  how  do  you  hold  up  your  tender  young  head, 
When  rude,  searching  winds,  rush  along  o'er  your  bed 
And  dark,  gloomy  clouds,  ranging  over  you,  shed 

Their  waters,  so  heavy  and  cold  1 

No  one  has  nursed  you,  or  watched  you  an  hour, 
Or  found  you  a  place  in  the  garden  or  bower  ; 
And  they  cannot  yield  one  so  lovely  a  flower, 

As  here  I  have  found  at  my  feet ! 
Speak,  my  sweet  violet !  answer  and  tell, 
How  you  have  grown  up  and  flourished  so  well ; 
And  look  so  contented  where  lowly  you  dwell, 

And  we  thus  by  accident  meet !  " 


244  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

3.  "The  same  careful  hand,"  the  violet  said, 
*'That  holds  up  the  firmament,  holds  up  my  head  1 

And  He  who  with  azure  the  skies  overspread, 

Has  painted  the  violet  blue. 
He  sprinkled  the  stars  out  above  me  by  night, 
And  sends  down  the  sunbeams  at  morning  with  light. 
To  make  my  new  coronet  sparkling  and  bright, 

When  formed  of  a  drop  of  his  dew? 

4.  "  I  've  nought  to  fear  from  the  black,  heavy  cloud, 

Or  the  breath  of  the  tempest,  that  comes  strong  and 

loud, 
Where,  born  in  the  low-land,  and  far  from  the  crowd, 

I  know,  and  I  live  but  for  One. 
He  soon  forms  a  mantle  about  me  to  cast,  ^M§ 

Of  long,  silken  grass,  till  the  rain  and  the  blast,  ^' 

And  all  that  seemed  threatening,  have  harmlessly  passed, 

As  the  clouds  scud  before  the  warm  sun  1" 


LESSON  CXVII.     Foetri/. 

1.  What  is  poetry?  The  common  answer  would  be,  that 
it  is  some  peculiar  gift,  some  intellectual  affluence,  distinct, 
not  merely  in  form,  not  merely  in  rhyme,  but  essentially, 
and  in  its  very  nature,  distinct  from  all  prose  writings.  Its 
numbers  are  mystic  numbers ;  its  themes  are  far  above  us, 
and  away  from  us,  m  the  clouds,  or  in  the  hues  of  the  dis- 
tant landscape ;  it  is  at  war  with  the  realities  of  life,  and  it 
is  especially  afraid  of  logic, 

2.  It  is  using  no  extravagant  language,  it  is  committing  no 
vulgar  mistake,  to  say,  that  poetry  is  regarded  as  a  kind  of 
** peculiar  trade  and  mystery";  nay,  in  a  sense  beyond  that 
of  this  technical  language,  as  a  real  and  absolute  mystery. 
In  one  of  the  most  distinguished  journals  of  the  day,  we 
find  a  writer  complaining  after  this  sort:  —  "Poetry,"  says 
he,  "  the  workings  of  genius  itself,  which,  in  all  times,  and 
with  one  or  another  meaning,  has  been  created  inspiration, 
and  held  to  be  mysterious  and  inscrutable^  is  ro  longer  with- 
out its  scientific  exposition." 

3.  And  why,  let  us  ask,  why  should  it  be  without  its  ex- 


POETRY.  245 

position  ?  Ay,  and  if  there  were  any  such  thing  as  a  sci- 
ence of  criticism  among  us,  (for  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  great 
deal  less  of  it  than  there  was  in  the  days  of  Addison  and 
Johnson,)  I  would  say  its  scientific  exposition.  What  is 
poetry?  What  is  this  mysterious  thing,  but  one  form  in 
which  human  nature  expresses  itself?  What  is  it  but  em- 
bodying, what  is  it  but  "  showing  up,"  in  all  its  moods,  from 
the  lowliest  to  the  loftiest,  the  same  deep  and  impassioned, 
but  universal  mind,  which  is  alike  and  equally  the  theme  of 
philosophy  ? 

4.  What  does  poetry  tell  us,  but  that  which  was  already 
in  our  hearts?  What  are  all  its  intermingled  lights  and 
shadows?  what  are  its  gorgeous  clouds  of  imagery,  and  the 
hues  of  its  distant  landscapes?  what  are  its  bright  and  bless- 
ed visions,  and  its  dark  pictures  of  sorrow  and  passion,  but 
the  varied  reflection  of  the  beautiful  and  holy,  and  yet  over- 
shadowed, and  marred,  and  afflicted  nature  within  us?  And 
how,  then,  is  poetry  any  more  inscrutable  than  our  own  hearts 
are  inscrutable  ? 

5.  To  whom  or  to  What,  let  me  ask  again,  does  poetry 
address  itself?  To  what,  in  its  heroic  ballads,  in  its  epic 
song,  in  its  humbler  verse,  in  its  strains  of  love,  or  pity,  or 
indignation,  —  to  what  does  it  speak,  but  to  human  nature, 
but  to  the  common  mind  of  all  the  world  ?  And  its  noblest 
productions,  its  Iliads,  its  Hamlets,  and  Lears,  the  whole 
world  has  understood,  —  the  rude  and  the  refined,  the  an- 
chorite and  the  throng  of  men. 

6.  There  is  poetry  in  real  life,  and  in  the  humblest  life  ; 
and  in  this,  if  it  may  not  misbecome  me  to  say  so,  is  one  of 
the  noblest  of  our  English  poets  right;  though  in  the  appli- 
cation of  his  theory,  I  would  venture  to  assert,  with  the 
same  reservation  for  my  modesty,  that  he  has  sometimes 
made  the  most  lamentable,  not  to  say  ludicrous,  mistakes. 
There  is  "  unwritten  poetry  "  ;  there  is  poetry  in  prose ;  there 
is  poetry  in  all  living  hearts. 

7.  Let  him  be  the  true  poet  who  shall  find  it,  sympathize 
with  it,  and  bring  it  to  light.  He  that  does  so,  must  deeply 
study  human  nature.  He  that  does  so,  must,  whether  he 
knows  it  or  not,  be  a  philosopher.  Much  there  is,  no  doubt, 
of  technical  language,  much  about  quiddities  and  entities, 
that  he  may  not  know. 

8.  But  he  must  know,  and  that  by  deep  study  and  obser- 

31* 


246  THE    FOURTH   RIlADER. 

vatipn,  how  feelings  and  passions  rise  in  the  human  breast, 
what  are  those  which  coexist,  what  repel  each  other,  what 
naturally  spring  one  from  another;  he  must  know  what 
within  is  moved,  and  how  it  is  put  in  action  by  all  this  mov- 
ing world  around  us;  what  chords  are  struck,  not  only  by 
the  rough  touches  of  fortune,  but  what  are  swept  by  invisi- 
ble influences ;  he  must  know  all  the  wants,  and  sufferings, 
and  joys  of  this  inward  being ;  what  are  its  darkest  strug- 
gles, its  sublimest  tendencies,  its  most  soothing  hopes,  and 
most  blessed  affections ;  and  all  this  is  divine  philosophy. 

9.  He  must  wait,  almost  in  prayer,  at  the  oracle  within ; 
he  must  write  the  very  language  of  his  own  soul ;  he  must 
write  no  rash  response  from  the  shrines  of  models ;  but  ask- 
ing, questioning,  listening  to  the  voice  within,  as  he  writes  ; 
and  then  will  the  deepest  philosophy  take  the  form  of  the 
noblest  inspiration. 


LESSOxN  CXVIII.     The  Coral  Insect. 

The  vast  beds  of  coral  in  the  ocean  are  formed  by  minute  insects.  Many 
of  the  islands  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  appear  to  be  formed  wholly  by  these  ever- 
toiling  creatures. 

1.  Toil  on!  toil  on!  ye  ephemeral  train. 

Who  build  on  the  tossing  and  treacherous  main ; 

Toil  on!  for  the  wisdom  of  man  ye  mock. 

With  your  sand-based  structures,  and  domes  of  rock. 

Your  columns  the  fathomless  fountains  lave. 

And  your  arches  spring  up  through  the  crested  wave; 

Ye  're  a  puny  race,  thus  boldly  to  rear 

A  fabric  so  vast  in  a  realm  so  drear. 

2.  Ye  bind  the  deep  with  your  secret  zone. 
The  ocean  is  sealed,  and  the  surge  a  stone; 
Fresh  wreaths  from  the  coral  pavement  spring, 
Like  the  terraced  pride  of  Assyria's  king. 
The  turf  looks  green  where  the  breakers  rolled, 
O'er  the  whirlpool  ripens  the  rind  of  gold ; 
The  sea-snatched  isle  is  the  home  of  men, 
And  mountains  exult  where  the  wave  hath  been. 


WHO  ARE  THE  TRULY  HAPPYl     247 

3.  But  why  do  ye  plant,  'neath  the  billows  dark, 
The  wrecking  reef  for  the  gallant  bark? 
There  are  snares  enough  on  the  tented  field ; 
'Mid  the  blossomed  sweets  that  the  valleys  yield  ; 
There  are  serpents  to  coil  ere  the  flowers  are  up, 
There  's  a  poison  drop  in  man's  purest  cup ; 
There  are  foes  that  watch  for  his  cradle-breath, 
And  why  need  ye  sow  the  floods  with  death? 

4.  With  mouldering  bones  the  deeps  are  white. 
From  the  ice-clad  pole  to  the  tropics  bright ; 
The  mermaid  hath  twisted  her  fingers  cold 
With  the  mesh  of  the  sea-boy's  curls  of  gold  ; 
And  the  gods  of  ocean  have  frowned  to  see 
The  mariner's  bed  'mid  their  halls  of  glee. 
Hath  earth  no  graves  ?  that  ye  thus  must  spread 
The  boundless  sea  with  the  thronging  dead  ? 

5.  Ye  build  !  ye  build !  but  ye  enter  not  in, 

Like  the  tribes  whom  the  desert  devoured  in  their  sin  ; 

From  the  land  of  promise  ye  fade  and  die, 

Ere  its  verdure  gleams  forth  on  your  wearied  eye. 

As  the  cloud-crowned  pyramids'  founders  sleep 

Noteless  and  lost  in  oblivion  deep, 

Ye  slumber  unmarked  'mid  the  desolate  main. 

While  the  wonder  and  pride  of  your  works  remain. 


LESSON  CXIX.     Who  are  the  truly  Happy  1 

1.  Society  is  often  spoken  of  as  divided  into  three  clas- 
ses, —  the  high,  the  low,  and  the  middling.  These  terms,  I 
am  persuaded,  often  bear  a  false  signification,  and  are  the 
foundation  of  infinite  mischief.  Wealth  exerts  a  magical 
influence  over  the  imagination  ;  and  those  who  possess  it  are 
honored  with  an  epithet,  which  implies  an  enviable  superior- 
ity of  condition  to  the  rest  of  mankind.  But  this  is  mere 
assumption,  and  that,  too,  in  the  face  of  fact  and  reas«n. 
Wealth  is  not  happiness,  —  it  is  a  mere  instrument,  and 
generally  fails  to  accomplish  the  end  for  which  it  is  de- 
signed. 


248  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

2.  In  the  hands  of  one  who  knows  how  to  use  it,  and  has 
that  stern  self-control  which  enables  him  to  act  according  to 
knowledge,  wealth  is  a  blessing.  But  there  are  few  men  of 
this  character.  Most  possessors  of  wealth  are  seduced  by  its 
blandishments  from  the  straight  and  narrow  way  of  peace ; 
and  that  which  Heaven  gave  for  good,  thus  becomes  the  in- 
strument of  evil. 

3.  This  classification  of  society,  then,  which  assigns  the  first 
and  highest  place  to  the  rich,  is  founded  upon  what  might 
be,  and  not  upon  what  is.  The  rich  are  not  the  happiest  por- 
tion of  mankind ;  for  wealth  is  a  two-edged  sword,  and  too 
frequently  wounds  the  hand  that  wields  it.  The  only  just 
sense  in  which  the  rich  man  can  be  said  to  be  above  his 
humbler  neighbor,  is,  that  he  occupies  a  station  of  more  re- 
sponsibility. He  has  more  influence,  more  power;  for  gold 
dazzles  the  eye,  and  mankind,  like  the  moth,  are  disposed  to 
follow  the  glare. 

4.  The  rich  man's  actions,  then,  become  efficient  exam- 
ples to  those  around  him,  —  lectures  of  more  power  than 
those  of  the  pulpit  preacher.  The  rich  set  the  fashion,  and 
fashion  is  a  goddess  of  unlimited  sway.  A  wise  and  good 
man,  who  has  riches,  may  therefore  be,  and  often  is,  a  light 
set  on  a  hill ;  but  a  selfish,  or  even  a  reckless,  rich  man, 
either  hides  his  light  in  a  bushel,  or  uses  it  to  dazzle  and 
delude  those  who  are  around  him,  to  their  ruin. 

5.  The  vices  of  the  poor  are  generally  hurtful  only  to 
themselves.  The  thief,  the  drunkard,  the  burglar,  in  the 
dirty  streets  of  our  cities,  do  little  harm  by  their  example  to 
others;  for  vice,  in  rags,  is  disgusting  to  all.  But  the  vices 
of  those,  who  dwell  in  palaces  of  granite,  seen  through  rose- 
colored  plate  glass,  have  a  hue  that  turns  the  demon  of  de- 
formity into  an  angel  of  light. 

6.  Indolence,  voluptuousness,  extravagance,  haughtiness, 
exclusiveness,  affectation,  gossipping,  —  all  these,  amid  many 
others,  vices  of  the  rich,  as  truly  vicious  as  theft  and  burg- 
lary, as  truly  founded  in  selfishness,  and  <i3  truly  going  to 
deface  the  image  of  God  in  the  soul,  —  have  a  character  of 
gentility,  and  are  more  greedily  imitated,  than  if  they  were 
Scripture  virtues. 

7.  They  are  imitated,  too,  with  complacency  ;  for  that 
salutary  fear,  which  attends  other  vices,  and  which  may, 
ioon  or  late,  lead  the  soul  to  shake  them  off,  does  not  exist. 


WHO   ARE   THE   TRULY    HAPPY1  249 

The  rich  may,  therefore,  be  considered  as  preachers  ;  their 
houses  as  temples,  and  the  world  around  as  their  attentive 
auditory.  Their  situation  is  one  of  fearful  responsibility. 
If  a  man  goes  into  a  pulpit  and  preaches  atheism,  every 
good  mind  is  shocked,  and  starts  back,  as  if  that  image,  in 
which  Satan  seduced  our  common  mother,  had  suddenly 
come  before  him, 

8.  But  the  rich  man,  who  sets  an  example  of  indolence, 
or  haughtiness,  or  voluptuousness,  —  who  brings  up  his 
children  in  idleness,  or  tolerates  them  in  what  is  called 
dandyism,  or  in  exclusiveness,  or  an  affectation  of  superiority, 
—  is  a  worse  enemy  to  society,  if  we  regard  practical  con- 
sequences, than  the  infidel  preacher.  He  sows,  far  and 
wide,  the  seeds  of  vice,  and  leaves  society  to  reap  the  whirl- 
wind. 

9.  In  this  point  of  view,  the  rich  occupy  a  station  of  great 
eminence.  They  are  the  first  or  highest  class  of  society,  if 
we  regard  power  and  responsibility  ;  but  not  the  first,  in  the 
common  acceptation  of  the  term,  —  that  of  being  the  hap- 
piest. Nor  do  the  poor,  as  being  the  least  happy,  occupy 
the  last  station.  Happiness,  indeed,  is  independent  of  con- 
dition. 

10.  The  terms,  then,  high  and  low,  so  often  used  as 
marking  out  society  into  classes,  are  false ;  they  are  also 
mischievous,  as  tending  to  imbue  the  minds  of  some  with 
conceit,  and  others  with  venomous  discontent.  They,  at 
least,  put  into  the  hands  of  those  who  adopt  the  political 
doctrine,  "  Divide  and  conquer,"  a  power,  by  which  they 
may  array  one  part  of  the  community  against  the  other  ;  and, 
when  the  war  is  waged,  lead  on  their  dupes  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  own  purpo'ses. 

11.  Let  us,  ray  friends,  take  a  wiser  view  of  this  subject. 
The  happy  class  of  society  is  the  industrious  class,  —  be 
they  rich,  be  they  poor,  or  be  they  in  that  better  condition, 
petitioned  for  by  him  who  said,  "  Give  me  neither  poverty 
or  riches."  It  is  in  this  middle  station,  that  peace  and  dig- 
nity are  most  frequently  found. 

12.  I  know  of  no  better  test  of  happiness,  than  simplicity 
of  manners.  If  you  can  show  me  a  person,  who  is  free 
from  affectation,  free  alike  from  disguise,  uneasiness,  and 
pretence,  —  one  who  seems  solicitous  to  hide  nothing,  and 
to  display  nothing,  —  one,  in  short,  who  bears  upon  him  the 


250  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

impress  of  truth,  —  you  show  rae  a  man,  who,  in  wealth  or 
poverty,  is  happy. 

13.  Truth,  in  morals,  is  like  gold  among  the  metals  ;  it  is 
always  valuable,  it  is  always  graceful.  Whether  rough  in 
its  native  state,  as  in  rustic  life,  or  wrought  up  with  the  re- 
finement of  more  artificial  society,  it  is  still  truth,  and  con- 
stitutes the  basis  of  all  virtue,  all  happiness,  all  moral  beauty. 
Everything  is  trashy  and  base  without  it.  The  false  imita- 
tions of  it,  —  affectation,  pretence,  assumption,  arrogance, 
are  brassy  counterfeits,  alike  worthless  to  the  possessor,  and 
contemptible  in  the  sight  of  true  wisdom. 

14.  And  in  what  condition  of  society  is  this  simplicity  or 
truth  of  character  most  frequently  found  ?  I  hesitate  not  to 
declare,  that  it  is  with  the  middling  class,  who  are  kept  by 
that  admirable  regulator  of  society,  —  industry,  —  between 
the  extremes  of  poverty  and  riches. 

15.  And  how  happy  is  it,  —  thanks  to  our  fatliers, 
thanks  to  a  beneficent  Providence,  thanks  to  this  fair  land, 
and  this  bountiful  climate,  —  that  this  happiest  condition 
of  life  is  accessible  to  all !  Every  man  may  not  have 
gainful  talents,  or  the  favoring  tide  of  fortune,  to  aid  him 
in  the  acquisition  of  wealth;  but  every  man  may  attain  a 
better  eminence,  —  every  one  may  be  industrious,  and  ac- 
quire that  middling  independence,  which  is  better  than 
wealth. 

16.  I  say,  every  one ;  for  the  exceptions  arising  from  ill 
health,  or  casual  misfortune,  are  exceedingly  rare.  A  man 
may  be  industrious,  and  yet  poor ;  in  general,  however,  in- 
dustry, patient,  quiet  industry,  is  a  sure  remedy  for  poverty. 


LESSON  CXX.     Hymn  to  the  North  Star, 

1.  The  sad  and  solemn  liight 
Has  yet  her  multitude  of  cheerful  fires  ; 

The  glorious  hosts  of  light 
Walk  the  dark  hemisphere  till  she  retires; 
All  through  her  silent  watches,  gliding  slow, 
Her  constellations  come,  and  round  the  heavens,  and  go. 


HYMN    TO    THE  NORTH  STAR.  251 

I 

2.  Day,  too,  hath  many  a  star 

To  grace  his  gorgeous  reign,  as  bright  as  they ; 

Through  the  bkie  fields  afar, 
Unseen  they  follow  in  his  flaming  way ; 
Many  a  bright  lingerer,  as  the  eve  grows  dim, 
Tells  what  a  radiant  troop  arose  and  set  with  him. 

3.  And  thou  dost  see  them  rise, 

Star  of  the  Pole !  and  thou  dost  see  them  set. 

Alone,  in  thy  cold  skies, 
Thou  keep'st  thy  old  unmoving  station  yet, 
Nor  join'st  the  dances  of  that  glittering  train, 
Nor  dipp'st  thy  virgin  orb  in  the  blue  western  main. 

4.  There,  at  morn's  rosy  birth, 

Thou  lookest  meekly  through  the  kindling  air, 

And  eve,  that  round  the  earth 
Chases  the  day,  beholds  thee  watching  there  ; 
There  noontide  finds  thee,  and  the  hour  that  calls 
The  shapes  of  polar  flame  to  scale  heaven's  azure  walla. 

5.  Alike,  beneath  thine  eye. 

The  deeds  of  darkness  and  of  light  are  done ; 

High  towards  the  star-lit  sky 
Towns  blaze,  —  the  smoke  of  battle  blots  the  sun,  — 
The  night-storm  on  a  thousand  hills  is  loud,  — 
And  the  strong  wind  of  day  doth  mingle  sea  and  cloud. 

6.  On  thy  unaltering  blaze 

The  half-wrecked  mariner,  his  compass  lost, 

Fixes  his  steady  gaze. 
And  steers,  undoubting,  to  the  friendly  coast ; 
And  they  who  stray  in  perilous  wastes,  by  night, 
Are  glad  when  thou  dost  shine  to  guide  their  footsteps  right. 

7.  And,  therefore,  bards  of  old, 
Sages,  and  hermits  of  the  solemn  woodj 

Did  in  thy  beams  behold 
A  beauteous  type  of  that  unchanging  good. 
That  bright  eternal  beacon,  by  whose  ray 
The  voyager  of  time  should  shape  his  heedful  way. 


252  THE    FOURTH   READER 


LESSON   CXXI.     The  Duty  of  Industry 

1.  From  what  I  have  said,  it  is  a  plain  inference,  that  in- 
dustry is  the  duty  of  every  man  ;  it  is  his  duty,  alike  flow- 
ing from  his  obligations  to  society  and  to  himself.  No  degree 
of  wealth,  no  love  of  pleasure,  no  distaste  for  exertion, 
nothing  but  physical  incapacity,  can  confer  on  any  man  the 
right  to  lead  an  idle  life.  Each  individual  has  some  gifts, 
and  he  is  bound  to  use  them  wisely  for  himself  and  for  man- 
kind. 

2.  In  these  remarks,  I  have  a  primary  reference  to  that 
industry  which  is  practised  in  our  village,  —  industry  of  the 
hands.  I  do  not  insist,  however,  that  every  one  shall  practise 
this  species  of  industry  ;  for  intellectual  activity  may  produce 
the  greatest  benefits  to  society,  and  bring  happiness  to  him 
who  udes  it.  Mental  toil  may,  as  it  regards  its  general 
effects,  be  considered  of  a  higher  nature  than  bodily  toil. 

3.  But  I  believe  no  man  can  be  happy  without  some  ha- 
bitual bodily  toil ;  and,  surely,  if  I  were  to  choose  a  plan 
of  life,  most  likely  to  insure  happiness,  it  would  be  among 
those  who  labor  with  their  hands  as  a  vocation.  If  envy 
could,  for  once,  have  her  eyes  freed  from  the  scales  of  prej- 
udice, she  would  not  teach  us  to  desire  the  high  places  of 
those  who  labor  not ;  but  she  would  choose,  as  most  desir- 
able, a  condition  among  farmers  and  mechanics. 

4.  Of  all  the  delusions,  with  which  man  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  cheat  himself,  the  idea  that  freedom  from  labor 
confers  bliss,  is  the  most  fallacious.  To  live  without  work, 
is  the  halcyon,  but  deceptive  dream,  of  millions.  It  has  in- 
spired many  a  man  to  put  forth  painful  efforts;  but  when 
the  bubble  is  caught,  it  vanishes  into  thin  air.  Go  to  our 
cities,  and  ask  those  who  are  looked  upon  as  the  successful 
men  in  life,  —  those  who  have  risen  to  wealth  by  their  own 
exertions. 

5.  Ask  them,  which  is  the  best  part  of  life,  that  of  effort, 
or  that  of  luxurious  relaxation.  They  will  all  tell  you,  that 
the  era  of  happiness,  to  which  they  look  back  with  delight, 
is  the  humble  period  of  industrious  labor.  They  will  tell 
you,  that  the  remembrance  of  those  days  of  small  things,  — 
dimmed,  as  it  might  seem,  by  doubts  and  difficulties,  —  is 
better  than  all  their  shining  wealth. 


WEEHAWKEW.  253 

6.  How  idle,  then,  is  that  sour  dissatisfaction,  with  which 
some  persons  look  upon  their  lot,  because  it  involves  the  duty 
and  necessity  of  habitual  industry  !  How  unjust  that  pois- 
onous envy,  with  which  the  laborer  sometimes  regards  the 
other  classes  of  society  !  Be  assured,  that  those  who  occu- 
py what  are  often  called,  often  falsely,  the  highest  stations 
in  life,  pay  dearly  for  their  giddy  elevation. 

7.  The  rich  have  sorrows,  which  the  poor  know  not  of. 
There  is  often  a  bitter  drug  in  the  golden  cup,  which  is 
never  tasted  in  the  clear  glass  of  humble  life.  Let  us  think 
better  of  the  ways  of  Providence  ;  and,  with  hearts  free  from 
vexing  envy  and  embittering  discontent,  pursue  the  path  of 
lawful  labor,  if  that  should  chance  to  be  our  lot. 


LESSON  CXXIL     Weehawken. 

Weehawken  is  a  high  cliff  on  the  shore  of  New  Jersey,  overlooking 
the  Hudson,  near  the  city  of  New  York. 

1.  Weehawken  !  In  thy  mountain  scenery  yet, 

All  we  adore  of  nature,  in  her  wild 
And  frolic  hour  of  infancy,  is  met ; 

And  never  has  a  summer's  morning  smiled 
Upon  a  lovelier  scene,  than  the  full  eye 
Of  the  enthusiast  revels  on,  —  when  high, 

2.  Amid  thy  forest  solitudes,  he  climbs 

O'er  crags  that  proudly  tower  above  the  deep, 
And  knows  that  sense  of  danger,  which  sublimes 

The  breathless  moment,  —  when  his  daring  step 
Is  on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  and  he  can  hear 
The  low  dash  of  the  wave  with  startled  ear, 

3.  Like  the  death-music  of  his  coming  doom. 

And  clings  to  the  green  turf  with  desperate  force, 
As  the  heart  clings  to  life ;  and  when  resume 

The  currents  in  his  veins  their  wonted  course, 
There  lingers  a  deep  feeling,  —  like  the  moan 
Of  wearied  ocean,  when  the  storm  is  gone, 
22 


254  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

4.  In  such  an  hour  he  turns,  and  on  his  view, 

Ocean,  and  earth,  and  heaven,  burst  before  him ; 
Clouds  slumbering  at  his  feet,  and  the  clear  blue 

Of  summer's  sky,  in  beauty  bending  o'er  him,  — 
The  city  bright  below ;  and  far  away. 
Sparkling  in  golden  light,  his  own  romantic  bay. 

6.  Tall  spire,  and  glittering  roof,  and  battlement. 
And  banners  floating  in  the  sunny  air; 
And  white  sails  o'er  the  calm  blue  waters  bent, 

Crreen  isle,  and  circling  shore,  are  blended  there, 
In  wild  reality.     When  life  is  old, 
And  many  a  scene  forgot,  the  heart  will  hold 

6.  Its  memory  of  this  ;  nor  lives  there  one 

Whose  infant  breath  was  drawn,  or  boyhood  days 
Of  happiness  were  passed  beneath  that  sun, 

That  in  his  manhood  prime  can  calmly  gaze 
Upon  that  bay,  or  on  that  mountain  stand, 
Nor  feel  the  prouder  of  his  native  land. 


LESSON  CXXIII.     Tlie  Trumphal  Song  of  Moses  after 
the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea,     Exodus  xv. 

1. 1  WILL  sing  unto  Jehovah,  for  he  is  gloriously  exalted  ; 

The  horse  and  his  rider  hath  he  whelmed  in  the  sea. 

My  praise  and  my  song  is  Jehovah, 

And  he  is  become  my  salvation. 

He  is  my  God,  and  I  will  praise  him ; 

My  father's  God,  and  I  will  exalt  him. 
2.  Jehovah  is  a  man  of  war ;  Jehovah  is  his  name. 

The  chariots  of  Pharaoh  and  his  host  haih  he  thrown  in 
the  sea ; 

And  his  choicest  leaders  are  thrown  in  the  Red  Sea. 

The  floods  have  covered  them :  they  went  down ; 

Into  the  abyss  [they  went  down]  as  a  stone. 
B.  Thy  right  hand,  O  Jehovah,  hath  made  itself  glorious  in 
power ; 

Thy  right  hand,  0  Jehovah,  bath  dashed  in  pieces  the 
enemy. 


TRIUMPHAL   SONG    OlF    MOSES.  255 

And  in  the  strength  of  thy  majesty  thou  hast  destroyed 
thine  adversaries. 

4.  Thou  didst  let  loose  thy  wrath ;    it  consumed  them  like 

stubble. 
With  the   blast  of  thy  nostrils  the  waters  were  heaped 

together. 
The  flowing  waters  *  stood  upright  as  an  heap. 
The  floods  were  congealed  in  the  heart  of  the  sea. 
The  enemy  said,  "  I  will  pursue,  I  will  overtake  ; 
I  will  divide  the  spoil,  my  soul  shall  be  satisfied; 
I  will  draw  my  sword,  my  hand  shall  destroy  them. 

5.  Thou  didst  blow  with  thy  breath,  the  sea  covered  them. 
They  sank  as  lead  in  the  mighty  waters. 

6.  Who  is  like  unto  thee  among  the  gods,  O  Jehovah ! 
Who  is  like  unto  thee,  making  thyself  glorious  in  holiness  I 
Fearful  in  praises^  executing  wonders. 

7.  Thou  didst  stretch  out  thy  right  hand,  —  the  earth  swal- 

lowed them. 
Thou  hast  led  forth  in  thy  mercy  the  people  whom  thou 

hast  redeemed ; 
Thou  hast  guided  them  in  thy  strength  to  the  habitation 

of  thy  holiness. 

8.  The  people  shall  hear  and  be  disquieted  : 
Terror  shall  seize  the  inhabitants  of  Philistia. 
Then  the  nobles  of  Edom  shall  be  confounded ; 

The  mighty  ones  of  Moab,  trembling  shall  take  hold  upon 
them. 

All  the  inhabitants  of  Canaan  shall  melt  away. 

Terror  and  perplexity  shall  fall  upon  them : 

Because  of  the  greatness  of  thine  arm  they  shall  be  as 
still  as  a  stone. 

Till  thy  people  pass  over,  O  Jehovah, 

Till  thy  people  pass  over  whom  thou  hast  redeemed. 

Thou  shalt  bring  them  in,  and  plant  them  in  the  moun- 
tains of  thine  inheritance, 

The  place  for  thy  dwelling,  which  thou  hast  prepared, 
O  Jehovah ! 

The  panctuary,  O  Lord,  which  thy  hands  have  established. 

Jehovah  shall  rejgn  for  ever  and  ever ! 

*  In  the  original,  —  "  The  flowing  stood  uprig^it,"  &c.,  the  participle  of 
the  verb  to  flow  being  the  poetical  form  for  waters. 


358  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

LESSON  CXXIV.     Select  Passages. 

Making  Resolutions. 

1.  Never  form  a  resolution  that  is  not  a  good  one,  and, 
when  once  formed,  never  break  it.  If  you  form  a  resolution, 
and  then  break  it,  you  set  yourself  a  bad  example,  and  you 
are  very  likely  to  follow  it.  A  person  may  get  the  habit  of 
breaking  his  resolutions  ;  this  is  as  bad  to  the  character  and 
mind,  as  an  incurable  disease  to  the  body.  No  person  can 
become  great,  but  by  keeping  his  resolutions ;  no  person 
ever  escaped  contempt,  who  could  not  keep  them. 

Ingratitude. 

2.  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter's  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh, 

As  benefits  forgot ; 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friends  remembering  not. 

Impatience, 

3.  In  those  evils  which  are  allotted  us  by  Providence, 
such  as  deformity,  privation  of  the  senses,  or  old  age,  it  is 
always  to  be  remembered,  that  impatience  can  have  no 
present  effect,  but  to  deprive  us  of  the  consolations  which 
our  condition  admits,  by  driving  away  from  us  those  by 
whose  conversation  or  advice  we  might  be  amused  or  helped  ; 
and  that,  with  regard  to  futurity,  it  is  yet  less  to  be  justified, 
since,  without  lessening  the  pain,  it  cuts  off  the  hope  of  that 
reward,  which  He,  by  whom  it  is  inflicted,  will  confer  upon 
those  who  bear  it  well. 


SELECT   PASSAGES.  257 

Ridicule. 

4.  He  who  indulges  himself  in  ridiculing  the  little  imper- 
fections and  weaknesses  of  his  friends,  will  in  time  find 
mankind  united  against  him.  The  man  who  sees  another 
ridiculed  before  him,  though  he  may  for  the  present  concur 
in  the  general  laugh,  yet  in  a  cool  hour  he  will  consider,  that 
the  same  trick  may  be  played  against  himself;  but,  when 
there  is  no  sense  of  this  danger,  the  natural  pride  of  human 
nature  rises  against  him,  who,  by  general  censures,  lays 
claim  to  general  superiority. 

Happiness. 

5.  Various,  sincere,  and  constant  are  the  eiforts  of  men 
to  produce  that  happiness  which  the  nature  of  the  mind  re- 
quires ;  but  most  seem  to  be  ignorant,  both  of  the  source  and 
of  the  means  of  genuine  felicity.  Religion  alone  can  afford 
true  joy  and  permanent  peace.  It  is  this  that  inspires  forti- 
tude, supports  patience,  and,  by  its  prospects  and  promises, 
throws  a  cheering  ray  into  the  darkest  shades  of  human  life. 

*'  Where  dwells  this  sovereign  bliss  ?  where  doth  it  grow  1 
Know,  mortals,  happiness  ne'er  dwelt  below  ; 
Look  at  yon  heaven,  —  go,  seek  the  blessing  there  ; 
Be  heaven  thy  aim,  thy  soul's  eternal  care ; 
Nothing  but  God,  and  God  alone,  you  '11  find, 
Can  fill  a  boundless  and  immortal  mind." 

Parental  Affection, 

6.  As  the  vexations  which  parents  receive  from  their  chil- 
dren hasten  the  approach  of  age,  and  double  the  force  of 
years,  so  the  comforts  which  they  reap  from  them  are  balm 
to  all  other  sorrows,  and  repair,  in  some  degree,  the  injuries 
of  time.  However  strong  we  may  suppose  the  fondness  of 
a  father  for  his  children,  yet  they  will  find  more  lively  marks 
of  tenderness  in  the  bosom  of  a  mother.  There  are  no  ties 
in  nature  to  compare  with  those  which  unite*  an  aflTectionate 
mother  to  her  children,  when  they  repay  her  tenderness  with 
obedience  and  love. 

22* 


258  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Cruelty  to  Animals. 

7.  Even  the  meanest  insect  receives  an  existence  from 
the  author  of  our  Being ;  and  why  should  we  idly  abridge 
their  span  ?  They  have  their  little  sphere  of  bliss  allotted 
them  ;  they  have  purposes  which  they  are  designed  to  fulfil ; 
and,  when  these  are  accomplished,  they  die.  Everything 
that  has  life  is  doomed  to  suffer  and  to  feel,  though  its  ex- 
pression of  pain  may  not  be  capable  of  being  conveyed  to 
our  senses.  He,  who  delights  in  misery  or  sports  with  life, 
must  have  a  disposition  and  a  heart,  neither  qualified  to 
make  himself  nor  others  happy. 

Honor. 

8.  True  honor,  though  it  be  a  different  principle  from  re- 
ligion, is  not  contrary  to  it.  Religion  embraces  virtue,  as  it 
is  enjoined  by  the  law  of  God  ;  honor,  as  it  is  graceful  and 
ornamental  to  human  nature.  The  religious  man  fears,  the 
man  of  honor  scorns,  to  do  an  ill  action.  The  latter  con- 
siders vice  as  something  that  is  beneath  him  ;  the  other,  as 
something  that  is  offensive  to  the  Divine  Being ;  the  one,  as 
what  is  unbecoming ;  the  other,  as  what  is  forbidden. 

Friendship. 

9.  Without  friendship,  life  has  no  charm.  The  only 
things  which  can  render  friendship  sure  and  lasting,  are 
virtue,  purity  of  manners,  an  elevated  soul,  and  perfect  in- 
tegrity of  heart.  Lovers  of  virtue  should  have  none  but 
men  of  virtue  for  their  friends ;  and  on  this  point  the  proof 
ought  principally  to  turn  ;  because,  where  there  is  no  virtue, 
there  is  no  security  that  our  honor,  confidence,  and  friend- 
ship, will  not  be  betrayed  and  abused.  The  necessary  ap- 
pendages of  friendship  are  confidence  and  benevolence. 

Conduct  to  Equals. 

10.  Be  kind,  pleasant,  and  loving,  not  cross  nor  churl- 
ish, to  your  equals;  and,  in  thus  behaving  yourselves,  all  per- 
sons will  naturally  desire  your  familiar  acquaintance,  and 
every  one  will  be  ready  and  willing,  upon  opportunity,  to 


ODE   TO    EVENING.  259 

serve  and  assist  you.  Your  friends  will  then  be  all  those 
that  know  you  and  observe  your  sweetness  of  deportment. 
This  practice,  also,  by  inducing  a  habit  of  obliging,  will  fit 
you  for  society,  and  facilitate  and  assist  your  dealings  with 
men  in  riper  years. 

Conduct  to  Inferiors. 

11.  Be  courteous  and  affable  to  your  inferiors,  not  proud 
nor  scornful.  To  be  courteous,  even  to  the  meanest,  is  a 
true  index  of  a  great  and  generous  mind.  But  the  insulting 
and  scornful  gentleman,  who  has  been  himself  originally 
low,  ignoble,  or  beggarly,  makes  himself  ridiculous  to  his 
equals,  and,  by  his  inferiors,  is  repaid  with  scorn,  contempt, 
and  hatred. 


LESSON  CXXV.     Ode  to  Evening. 

1.  If  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song, 

May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear, 
Like  thy  own  solemn  springs, 
Thy  springs  and  dying  gales  j 

2.  O,  Nymph  reserved,  while  now  the  bright-haired  Sun, 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skirts, 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 
O'erhang  his  wavy  bed. 

3.  Now  air  is  hushed,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat, 
With  short,  shrill  shriek,  flits  by  on  leathern  wing; 

Or  where  the  beetle  winds 
His  small  but  sullen  horn, 

4.  As  oft  he  rises  'midst  the  twilight  path. 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum : 

Now  teach  me,  maid  composed. 
To  breathe  some  softened  strain, 

5.  Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  darkening  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillnesi  suit ; 


260  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

As,  musing  slow,  I  hail 
Thy  genial,  loved  return  ! 

6.  For,  when  thy  folding-star  arising  shows 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  Hours,  and  Elves 
Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 

7.  And  many  a  nymph  who  wreaths  her  brows  with  sedgt, 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and,  lovelier  still, 

The  pensive  Pleasures  sweet, 
Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

8.  Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene  ; 
Or  find  some  ruin  midst  its  dreary  dells. 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 
By  thy  religious  gleams. 

9.  Or,  if  chill  blustering  winds,  or  driving  rain. 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut. 

That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Views  wilds,  and  swelling  floods, 

10.  And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discovered  spires; 
And  hears  their  simple  hell ;  and  marks  o'er  all 

Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 
The  gradual  dusky  veil. 

11.  While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  ofi;  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve  ! 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 
Beneath  thy  lingering  light ; 

12.  While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves  ; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  train, 
And  rudely  rends  thy  robes  ; 

13.  So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule, 

Shall  Fancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling  Peac«, 
Thy  gentlest  influence  own, 
And  love  thy  favorite  name ! 


THE    MURDERER.  261 


LESSON  CXXVI.     The  Murderer. 

This  is  the  opening  of  the  argument  of  the  counsel  on  the  part  of  the 
Commonwealth,  in  the  case  of  Francis  Knapp,  charged  with  being  an  insti- 
gator of  the  murder  of  Joseph  White  of  Salem,  an  aged  and  respectable 
man,  found  dead  in  his  bed,  and  proved  to  have  been  murdered  by  an  assas- 
sin, who  stabbed  him  while  asleep.  The  important  truth,  that  crime  cannot 
be  efTectually  concealed,  that  it  struggles  in  the  breast  of  its  perpetrator  till 
it  is  exposed  and  confessed,  is  set  forth  with  eloquence  and  power. 

1.  I  VERY  much  regret,  that  it  should  have  been  thought 
necessary  to  suggest  to  you,  that  I  am  brought  here  to 
"  hurry  you  against  the  law,  and  beyond  the  evidence."  I 
hope  I  have  too  much  regard  for  justice,  and  too  much  re- 
spect for  my  own  character,  to  attempt  either ;  and,  were  I 
to  make  such  an  attempt,  I  am  sure,  that,  in  this  court, 
nothing  can  be  carried  against  the  law,  and  that  gentlemen, 
intelligent  and  just  as  you  are,  are  not,  by  any  power,  to  be 
hurried  beyond  the  evidence. 

2.  Though  I  could  well  have  wished  to  shun  this  occa- 
sion, I  have  not  felt  at  liberty  to  withhold  my  professional 
assistance,  when  it  is  supposed  that  I  might  be  in  some  de- 
gree useful  in  investigating  and  discovering  the  truth  re- 
specting this  most  extraordinary  murder.  It  has  seemed  to 
be  a  duty,  incumbent  on  me,  as  on  every  other  citizen,  to 
do  my  best,  and  my  utmost,  to  bring  to  light  the  perpetra- 
tors of  this  crime.  Against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  as  an 
individual,  I  cannot  have  the  slightest  prejudice.  I  would 
not  do  him  the  smallest  injury  or  injustice.  But  I  do  not  affect 
to  be  indifferent  to  the  discovery,  and  the  punishment,  of  this 
deep  guilt.  I  cheerfully  share  in  the  opprobrium,  how  much 
soever  it  may  be,  which  is  cast  on  those  who  feel  and  mani- 
fest an  anxious  concern,  that  all  who  had  a  part  in  planning, 
or  a  hand  in  executing,  this  deed  of  midnight  assassination, 
may  be  brought  to  answer  for  their  enormous  crime,  at  the 
bar  of  public  justice. 

3.  Gentlemen,  it  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  In  some 
respects,  it  has  hardly  a  precedent  anywhere;  certainly  none 
in  our  New  England  history.  This  bloody  drama  exhibited 
no  suddenly  excited,  ungovernable  rage.  The  actors  in  it 
were  not  surprised  by  any  lion-like  temptation,  springing 
upon  their  virtue,  and  overcoming  it,  before  resistance  could 
begin.     Nor  did  they  do  the  deed  to  glut  savage  vengeance, 


262  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

or  satiate  long-settled  and  deadly  hate.  It  was  a  cool,  cal- 
culating, money-making  murder.  It  was  all  **  hire  and  sala- 
ry, not  revenge."  It  was  the  weighing  of  money  against 
life ;  the  counting  out  of  so  many  pieces  of  silver,  against 
so  many  ounces  of  blood. 

4.  An  aged  man,  without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  in  his 
own  house,  and  in  his  own  bed,  is  made  the  victim  of  a 
butcherly  murder,  for  mere  pay.  Truly,  here  is  a  new  les- 
son for  painters  and  poets.  Whoever  shall  hereafter  draw 
the  portrait  of  murder,  if  he  will  show  it  as  it  has  been  ex- 
hibited in  one  example,  where  such  example  was  last  to  have 
been  looked  for,  in  the  very  bosom  of  our  New  England  so- 
ciety, let  him  not  give  it  the  grim  visage  of  Moloch,  the 
brow  knitted  by  revenge,  the  face  black  with  settled  hate, 
and  the  bloodshot  eye,  emitting  livid  fires  of  malice.  Let 
him  draw,  rather,  a  decorous,  smooth-faced,  bloodless  de- 
mon ;  a  picture  in  repose,  rather  than  in  action ;  not  so 
much  an  example  of  human  nature,  in  its  depravity,  and  in 
its  paroxysms  of  crime,  as  an  infernal  nature,  a  fiend,  in  the 
ordinary  display  and  developement  of  his  character. 

5.  The  deed  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-posses- 
sion and  steadiness,  equal  to  the  wickedness  with  which  it 
was  planned.  The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence, 
spread  out  the  whole  scene  before  us.  Deep  sleep  had  fal- 
len on  the  destined  victim,  and  on  all  beneath  his  roof:  —  a 
healthful  old  man  to  whom  sleep  was  sweet,— the  first  sound 
slumbers  of  the  night  held  him  in  their  soft  but  strong  em- 
brace. 

6.  The  assassin  enters,  through  the  window  already  pre- 
pared, into  an  unoccupied  apartment.  With  noiseless  foot 
he  paces  the  lonely  hall,  half  lighted  by  the  moon ;  he  winds 
up  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  reaches  the  door  of  the 
chamber.  Of  this  he  moves  the  lock,  by  soft  and  contin- 
ued pressure,  till  it  turns  on  its  hinges  without  noise ;  and 
he  enters,  and  beholds  his  victim  before  him.  The  room 
was  uncommonly  open  to  the  admission  of  light,  The  face 
of  the  innocent  sleeper  was  turned  from  the  murderer,  and 
the  beams  of  the  moon,  resting  on  the  gray  locks,  of  his 
aged  temple,  showed  him  where  to  strike.  The  fatal  blow 
is  given  1  and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  struggle,  or  a  mo? 
tion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of  death ! 

7.  It  is  the  assassin's  purpose  to  make  sure  work ;  and  he 


THE    MURDERER.  263 

yet  plies  the  dagger,  though  it  was  obvious  that  life  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  blow  of  the  bludgeon.  He  even 
raises  the  aged  arm,  that  he  may  not  fail  in  his  aim  at  the 
heart,  and  replaces  it  again  over  the  wounds  of  the  poniard  I 
To  finish  the  picture,  he  explores  the  wrist  for  the  pulse  I 
He  feels  for  it,  and  ascertains  that  it  beats  no  longer  !  It  is 
accomplished.  The  deed  is  done.  He  retreats,  retraces 
his  steps  to  the  window,  passes  out  through  it,  as  he  came 
in,  and  escapes.  He  has  done  the  murder,  —  no  eye  has 
seen  him,  no  ear  has  heard  him.  The  secret  is  his  own,  and 
it  is  safe ! 

8.  Ah !  gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Such  a 
secret  can  be  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has 
neither  nook  nor  corner,  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it,  and 
say  it  is  safe.  Not  to  speak  of  that  eye  which  glances 
through  all  disguises,  and  beholds  everything,  as  in  the 
splendor  of  noon,  —  such  secrets  of  guilt  are  never  safe 
from  detection  even  by  men.  True  it  is,  generally  speak- 
ing, that  "  murder  will  out."  True  it  is,  that  Providence 
hath  so  ordained,  and  doth  so  govern  things,  that  those  who 
break  the  great  law  of  Heaven,  by  shedding  man's  blood, 
seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  discovery. 

9.  Especially,  in  a  case  exciting  so  much  attention  as 
this,  discovery  must  come,  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later. 
A  thousand  eyes  turn  at  once  to  explore  every  man,  every 
thing,  every  circumstance,  connected  with  the  time  and 
place ;  a  thousand  ears  catch  every  whisper ;  a  thousand 
excited  minds  intensely  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding  all 
their  light,  and  ready  to  kindle  the  slightest  circumstance 
into  a  blaze  of  discovery.  Meantime  the  guilty  soul  can- 
not keep  its  own  secret.  It  is  false  to  itself;  or  rather  it 
feels  an  irresistible  impulse  of  conscience  to  be  true  to  it- 
self. It  labors  under  its  guilty  possession,  and  knows  not 
what  to  do  with  it.  The  human  heart  was  not  made  for  the 
residence  of  such  an  inhabitant.  It  finds  itself  preyed  on 
by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not  acknowledge  to  God  or 
man. 

10.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  can  ask  no  assist- 
ance or  sympathy,  either  from  heaven  or  earth.  The  secret 
which  the  murderer  possesses  soon  comes  to  possess  him  i 
and  like  the  evil  spirits,  of  which  we  read,  it  overcomes 
him,  and  leads  him  whithersoever  it  will.     He  feels  it  beat- 


264  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

ing  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his  throat,  and  demanding  dis- 
closure. He  thinks  the  whole  world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads 
it  in  his  eyes,  and  almost  hears  its  workings  in  the  very  si- 
lence of  his  thoughts.  It  has  become  his  master.  It  be- 
trays his  discretion,  it  breaks  down  his  courage,  it  conquers 
his  prudence.  When  suspicions  from  without  begin  to  em- 
barrass him,  and  the  net  of  circumstance  to  entangle  him, 
the  fatal  secret  struggles  with  still  greater  violence  to  burst 
forth.  It  must  be  confessed,  it  will  be  confessed  ;  there  is 
no  refuge  from  confession  but  suicide,  and  suicide  is  confes- 
sion. 


LESSON    CXXVII.     Importance  of  Keeping  and  Observ- 
ing Good  Rules  of  Behavior. 

1.  If  we  look  carefully  into  the  history  of  great  and  good 
men,  we  shall  find,  in  almost  all  cases,  that  in  early  life,  they 
have  been  subjected  to  the  influence  of  wholesome  rules  of 
conduct. 

2.  There  is  not,  in  the  pages  of  human  biography,  a 
character  more  worthy  of  admiration  than  that  of  Washing- 
ton. If  the  secret  of  his  greatness  were  to  be  expressed  in 
a  single  word,  that  word  would  be  self-control.  It  was  be- 
cause he  could  govern  himself,  that  he  had  the  power  to 
govern  others.  He  could  put  aside  his  own  selfishness,  and 
beat  down  his  own  passions,  and  thus  he  was  left  to  act 
without  those  temptations,  which  draw  the  mind  and  heart 
aside  from  truth  and  duty,  as  iron  often  makes  the  needle 
swerve  from  the  polar  star. 

3.  How  did  he  acquire  this  art  of  self-government?  He 
had,  no  doubt,  the  early  guidance  and  counsel  of  a  wise 
mother,  and  he  had  the  grace  and  good  sense  to  listen  to 
her  instructions.  But  besides  this,  his  biographer  tells  us, 
that,  in  looking  over  his  papers,  he  finds,  in  Washington's 
hand-writing,  a  series  of  Rules  of  Behavior,  written  at  the 
age  of  thirteen,  and  preserved,  of  course,  through  his  whole 
life.  These  rules  are  indeed  excellent,  and  seem  to  be 
fitted  to  form  such  a  character  as  Washington's  really  was. 
Who  can  doubt,  that  this  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  great- 
ness? 

4.  In  English  history,  there  are  few  names  more  worthy 


RULES   OF   BEHAVIOR  265 

of  respect  than  that  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  He  was  born  in 
1554,  and  enjoyed  various  places  of  trust.  In  every  situation 
he  acquitted  himself  with  credit.  Such  was  his  reputation, 
that  he  was  offered  the  vacant  crown  of  Poland ;  but  the 
Queen,  Elizabeth,  would  not  consent,  remarking,  that  Eng- 
land ought  not  to  part  with  the  jewel  of  the  times.  His 
death,  by  a  wound  at  the  battle  of  Zutphen,  in  1586,  was 
deeply  mourned  in  England,  and  even  King  James,  the  suc- 
cessor of  Elizabeth,  condescended  to  write  his  epitaph. 

5.  A  brief  anecdote  shows  at  least  one  trait  in  the  char- 
acter of  this  great  and  good  man.  As  he  lay  bleeding  on 
the  field  of  battle,  and  was  going  to  take  a  bottle  of  wine, 
which  his  attendants  had  procured  to  refresh  him,  he  saw  a 
wounded  soldier  carried  by,  who  cast  a  longing  glance  at 
the  wine-  He  instantly  ordered  it  to  be  given  to  the  soldier, 
saying,  "  Take  it,  thy  need  is  greater  than  mine." 

6.  As  in  the  case  of  Washington,  we  find  that  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  had  the  advantage  of  excellent  written  rules  of  con- 
duct. The  following  letter,  addressed  to  him,  when  a  boy,  by 
his  father.  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  a  distinguished  English  states- 
man, no  doubt  was  often  perused,  and  reverently  observed. 
It  displays  singular  good  sense,  and  is  beautifully  written  in 
the  simple  English  of  the  olden  time.  It  is  alike  worthy  of 
attention  from  the  wisdom  it  displays,  and  from  the  light  it 
affords  as  to  the  state  of  our  language  nearly  three  centuries 
ago. 

7.  "  I  have  received  two  letters  from  you,  the  one  in  Latin, 
the  other  in  French,  which  I  take  in  good  part;  and  will 
you  to  exercise  that  practice  of  learning  often,  for  it  will 
stand  you  in  stead,  in  that  profession  of  life  which  you  were 
born  to  live  in ;  and  now,  since  this  is  the  first  letter  that 
ever  I  did  write  to  you,  1  will  not,  that  it  be  all  empty  of 
some  advices,  which  my  natural  care  of  you  provoketh  me 
to  with  you,  to  follow  as  documents  to  you  in  this  tender 
age.  Let  the  first  action  be  the  lifting  up  of  your  hands 
and  mind  to  Almighty  God  by  hearty  prayer  ;  and  feelingly 
digest  the  words  you  speak  in  prayer  with  continual  medi- 
tations, and  thinking  of  him  to  whom  you  pray ;  and  use 
this  at  an  ordinary  or  particular  hour,  whereby  the  time  it- 
self will  put  you  in  remembrance  to  do  that  thing,  which 
you  are  accustomed  to  do  in  that  time. 

8.  "  Apply  your  study  in  such  hours  as  your  discreet  master 

23 


26e  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

doth  assign  you,  earnestly  ;  and  the  time,  I  know,  he  will  so 
limit,  as  shall  be  both  sufficient  for  your  learning,  and  safe 
for  your  health;  and  mark  the  sense  and  manner  of  that 
you  read,  as  well  as  the  words ;  so  shall  you  both  enrich 
your  tongue  with  words,  and  your  wit  with  matter;  and 
judgment  will  grow,  as  you  advance  in  age. 

9.  "  Be  humble  and  obedient  to  your  master ;  for,  unless 
you  frame  yourself  to  obey,  yea,  and  to  feel  in  yourself  what 
obedience  is,  you  shall  never  be  able  to  teach  others  how  to 
obey  you  hereafter. 

10.  *'  Be  courteous  of  behavior,  and  affable  to  all  men,  with 
universality  of  reverence,  according  to  the  dignity  of  the 
person;  there  is  nothing  which  winneth  so  much  with  so 
little  cost. 

11.  "  Use  moderate  diet,  so  as  after  your  meal,  you  may 
find  your  wit  fresher,  and  not  duller,  and  your  body  more 
lively,  and  not  more  heavy. 

12.  "  Use  exercise  of  body ;  but  such  as  may  in  no  wise 
endanger  your  bones  or  joints ;  it  will  increase  your 
strength,  and  enlarge  your  breath. 

13.  "  Delight  to  be  cleanly  as  well  in  all  parts  of  your  body 
as  in  your  garments ;  it  shall  make  you  graceful  in  each 
company,  and  otherwise  you  will  become  loathsome. 

14.  "  Be  you  rather  a  hearer  and  a  bearer  away  of  other 
men's  talk,  than  a  beginner  or"  procurer  of  speech;  otherwise 
you  will  be  accounted  to  delight  to  hear  yourself  speak. 

15.  "  Be  modest  in  all  companies,  and  rather  be  laughed  at 
by  light  fellows  for  maiden  shamefulness,  than  of  your  sober 
friends  for  pert  boldness. 

16.  "  Think  upon  every  word  you  will  speak,  before  you 
utter  it ;  and  remember  how  nature  hath,  as  it  were,  ram- 
pired  up  the  tongue  with  teeth,  lips,  yea,  and  hair  without 
the  lips;  and  all  betoken  reins  and  bridle  to  the  restraining 
of  the  use  of  that  member. 

17.  "  Above  all  things,  tell  no  untruth ;  no,  not  in  trifles ; 
the  custom  of  it  is  naught.  And  let  it  not  satisfy  you,  that  the 
hearers  for  a  time  take  it  for  a  truth,  for  afterwards  it  will  be 
known,  as  it  is,  to  shame,  and  there  cannot  be  a  greater  re- 
proach to  a  gentleman,  than  to  be  accounted  a  liar. 

18.  "  Study,  and  endeavor  yourself  to  be  virtuously  occu- 


ST.  PATRICK.  267 

pied ;  so  shall  you  make  such  a  habit  of  well  doing,  as  you 
shall  not  know  how  to  do  evil,  though  you  would. 

19.  "  Remember,  my  son,  the  noble  blood  you  are  descend- 
ed from,  on  your  mother's  side ;  and  think  that  only,  by  a 
good  life  and  virtuous  actions,  you  may  be  an  ornament  to 
your  illustrious  family;  and  otherwise,  through  vice  and 
sloth,  you  will  be  esteemed  labcs  generis  [a  stain  on  your  fam- 
ily], which  is  one  of  the  greatest  curses  that  can  happen  to 
a  man. 

20.  "Well,  my  little  Philip,  this  is  enough  for  me,  and  I 
fear  too  much  for  you,  at  this  time ;  but  yet,  if  I  find  that 
this  light  meat  of  digestion  do  nourish  anything  the  weak 
stomach  of  your  young  capacity,  I  will,  as  I  find  the  same 
growing  stronger,  feed  it  with  tougher  food.  Farewell.  Your 
mother  and  I  send  you  our  blessing  ;  and  may  God  Almigh- 
ty grant  you  his  ;  nourish  you  with  his  fear,  guide  you  with 
his  grace,  and  make  you  a  good  servant  to  your  prince  and 
country." 


.     LESSON  CXXVIII.     St.  Patrick 

1.  There  are  so  many  absurd  legends  of  this  Irish 
Apostle,  that  his  name  has  been  brought  into  contempt,  par- 
ticularly among  Protestants.  But  an  examination  of  his 
true  history,  will  lead  every  fair-minded  person  to  a  very 
different  estimate  of  his  character. 

2.  St.  Patrick  appears  to  have  been  a  native  of  Boulogne, 
in  France,  and  to  have  been  born  about  the  year  387  A.  D. 
In  his  sixteenth  year  he  was  made  captive  in  a  marauding 
expedition  by  an  Irish  king,  Nial  of  the  Nine  Hostages. 
Being  carried  to  Ireland,  he  was  sold  as  a  slave  to  a  man 
named  Milcho,  living  in  what  is  now  called  the  county  of 
Antrim.  The  occupation  assigned  him  was  the  tending  of 
sheep.  His  lonely  rambles  over  the  mountains  and  the  for- 
est are  described  by  himself,  as  having  been  devoted  to 
constant  prayer  and  thought,  and  to  the  nursing  of  those 
deep  devotional  feelings,  which,  even  at  that  time,  he  felt 
strongly  stirring  within  him. 

3.  At  length,  after  six  years  of  servitude,  the  desire  of 
escaping  from  bondage  arose  in  his  heart.  "A  voice  in 
his  dreams,"  he  says,  <'  told  him,  that  he  was  soon  to  go  to 


268  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

his  own  country,  and  that  a  ship  was  ready  to  convey  him 
thither."  Accordingly  in  the  seventh  year  of  his  slavery, 
he  betook  himself  to  flight;  and,  making  his  way  to  the 
southwestern  coast  of  Ireland,  was  there  received  on  board 
a  merchant  vessel,  which,  after  a  voyage  of  three  days, 
landed  him  on  the  coast  of  Gaul. 

4.  He  now  returned  to  his  parents,  and,  after  spending 
some  time  with  them,  devoted  himself  to  study,  in  the  cele- 
brated monastery  of  St.  Martin,  at  Tours.  During  this 
period,  it  would  appear  that  his  mind  still  dwelt  with  fond 
recollection  upon  Ireland ;  for  he  had  a  remarkable  dream, 
which,  in  those  superstitious  ages,  was  regarded  as  a  vision 
from  heaven.  In  this,  he  seemed  to  receive  innumerable 
letters  from  Ireland,  in  one  of  which  was  written,  '^The 
voice  of  the  Irish.'* 

5.  In  these  natural  workings  of  a  warm  and  pious  imagi- 
nation, so  unlike  the  prodigies  and  miracles  with  which  most 
of  the  legends  of  his  life  abound,  we  see  what  a  hold  the 
remembrance  of  Ireland  had  taken  of  his  youthful  fancy, 
and  how  fondly  he  already  contemplated  some  holy  work  in 
her  service. 

6.  Having  left  the  seminary  at  Tours,  he  spent  several 
years  in  travelling,  study,  and  meditation ;  but,  at  length, 
being  constituted  a  bishop,  and  having  at  his  own  request 
been  appointed  by  the  See  of  Rome  to  that  service,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  his  long-contemplated  mission  to  Ireland. 

7.  Let  us  pause  a  moment  to  consider  the  state  of  Ireland 
at  this  period,  that  we  may  duly  estimate  the  task  which  lay 
before  this  apostle,  and  which  we  shall  find  he  gloriously 
accomplished.  The  neighboring  Island  of  Britain,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  still  under  the  Roman  yoke  ;  but 
no  Roman  soldier  had  ventured  to  cross  the  narrow  chan- 
nel between  Britain  and  Ireland,  and  set  his  foot  upon  Irish 
soil.  To  Ireland,  then,  Rome  had  imparted  none  of  her 
civilization. 

8.  The  country  was,  in  fact,  in  a  state  of  barbarism ;  the 
government  was  the  same  as  that  which  had  been  handed 
down  for  centuries,  and  which  continued  for  ages  after. 
The  territory  was  divided  among  a  great  number  of  petty 
chiefs,  who  assumed  the  title  and  claimed  the  sovereignty  of 
kings,  but  who  yet  acknowledged  a  sort  of  nominal  allegi- 
ance to  the  monarch  of  the  realm.     The  disputes  between 


ST.    PATRICK.  269 

tliese  sovereigns  were  incessant,  and  the  people  were  en- 
gaged in  almost  constant  war.  Among  the  rapid  succession 
of  princes,  history  tells  us  of  but  few  that  did  not  die  by 
violence. 

9.  In  such  a  state  of  things,  it  is  obvious  that  there  could 
be  little  progress  in  the  arts  of  peace,  or  in  that  culture 
which  proceeds  from  the  diffusion  of  intellectual  light.  A 
limited  knowledge  of  letters  existed  in  the  country,  and 
there  was,  no  doubt,  much  mystical  lore  among  the  druid- 
ical  priesthood,  who,  at  this  dark  period  of  society,  appear  to 
have  led  both  prince  and  people  as  their  cheated  and  de- 
luded captives,  whithersoever  they  pleased. 

10.  The  dominion,  indeed,  of  these  artful  priests  over  the 
mind  of  the  nation,  seems  to  have  been  absolute,  and  they 
exercised  it  with  unsparing  rigor.  The  whole  people  were 
subjected  to  an  oppressive  routine  of  rites  and  ceremonies, 
among  which  the  sacrifice  of  human  victims,  men,  women, 
and  children,  was  common.  The  details  of  these  shocking 
superstitions,  are,  indeed,  too  frightful  to  be  repeated  here. 
It  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  the  mission  of  St.  Patrick  con- 
templated the  conversion  of  a  nation,  wedded  to  these  un- 
holy rites,  to  the  pure  and  peaceful  doctrines  of  the  Gospel. 

11.  He  came  alone,  armed  with  no  earthly  power,  arrayed 
in  no  visible  pomp,  to  overturn  the  cherished  dynasty  of 
ages ;  to  beat  down  a  formidable  priesthood  ;  to  slay  the 
many-headed  monster,  prejudice ;  to  draw  aside  the  thick 
cloud  which  overspread  a  nation,  and  to  permit  the  light  of 
heaven  to  shine  upon  it. 

12.  There  was  something  in  the  very  conception  of  this 
noble  enterprise^  which  marks  St.  Patrick  as  endowed  with 
the  true  spirit  of  an  apostle.  We  cannot  follow  him  through 
the  details  of  his  mission.  It  is  sufficient  to  say,  that,  exer- 
cising no  power  but  persuasion,  and  using  no  weapon  but 
truth,  he  proceeded  from  place  to  place,  and,  in  the  brief 
space  of  thirty  years,  introduced  Christianity  into  every 
province  in  this  land,  and  that  without  one  drop  of  blood- 
shed. Everywhere,  the  frowning  altars  of  the  Druids  fell 
before  him,  the  superstitious  prince  did  homage  to  the  cross, 
and  the  proud  priest  of  the  Sun  bent  his  knee  to  the  true 
God.  Christianity  was  thus  introduced  and  spread  over 
Ireland  without  violence,  and  by  the  agency  of  a  single  in- 
dividual. 

23*      ' 


270  THE  FOURTH   READER. 

13.  Where  is  there  a  brighter  page  in  history,  than  this? 
Where  is  there  a  life  more  ennobled  by  lofty  purposes,  more 
illustrious  from  its  glorious  results  than  this  of  St.  Patrick  1 
Surely,  such  an  individual  is  no  proper  theme  for  ridicule 
or  contempt.  If  we  Americans  do  homage  to  the  memory 
of  Washington,  who  aided  in  delivering  our  country  from 
tyranny,  the  Irishman  may  as  justly  hold  dear  the  recollec- 
tion of  him  who  redeemed  his  country  from  paganism. 

14.  Aside  from  the  immediate  benefits  which  St.  Patrick 
secured  to  Ireland,  he  has  left  to  all  mankind  the  heritage 
of  a  glorious  truth,  and  that  is,  that  in  contending  with  hu- 
man power,  human  passions,  and  human  depravity,  the  min- 
ister of  Jesus  Christ  needs  no  other  weapon  than  truth, 
enforced  by  holy  example.  He  has  left  us  an  imperishable 
lesson  of  wisdom,  that  moral  suasion  can  overturn  that  do- 
minion of  ignorance  and  prejudice,  which  might  for  ever 
hold  the  sword  at  bay. 

15.  He  has  also  taught  us  another  truth,  worthy  of 
universal  remembrance,  which  is,  that  the  Irish  people, 
wedded  as  they  may  be  to  ancient  customs,  are  still  accessi- 
ble to  the  gentle  appeals  of  truth  and  reason.  Would  to 
Heaven  that  those,  who  attempt  to  deal  with  what  they 
consider  the  superstitions  of  the  Irish,  would  follow  the 
example  of  St.  Patrick,  and  treat  them  as  rational  beings. 


LESSON   CXXIX.     Departure  of  Adam  and  Eve  from 
Paradise. 

1.  He  ended,  and  they  both  descend  the  hill; 
Descended,  Adam  to  the  bower,  where  Eve 
Lay  sleeping,  ran  before,  but  found  her  waked ; 
And  thus,  with  words  not  sad,  she  him  received. 

2.  "Whence  thou  return'st,  and  whither  went'st,  I  know; 
For  God  is  also'  in  sleep  ;  and  dreams  advise. 
Which  he  hath  sent  propitious,  some  great  good 
Presaging,  since  with  sorrow  and  heart's  distress 
Wearied  I  fell  asleep ;  but  now  lead  on  ; 

In  me  is  no  delay  ;  with  thee  to  go. 

Is  to  stay  here  ;  without  thee,  here  to  stay, 


SONNET.  271 

Is  to  go  hence  unwilling.     Thou  to  me 
Art  all  things  under  Heaven,  all  places  thou, 
Who,  for  my  wilful  crime,  art  banished  hence. 
This  further  consolation  yet  secure 
I  carry  hence ;  though  all  by  me  is  lost. 
Such  favor,  I  unworthy  am  vouchsafed. 
By  rae  the  promised  seed  shall  all  restore." 

3.  So  spake  our  mother  Eve  ;  and  Adam  heard 
Well  pleased,  but  answered  not ;  for  now  too  nigh 
The  archangel  stood ;  and  from  the  other  hill 

To  their  fixed  station,  all  in  bright  array, 

The  Cherubim  descended  ;  on  the  ground 

Gliding  meteorous,  as  evening-mist 

Risen  from  a  river  o'er  the  marish  glides. 

And  gathers  ground  fast  at  the  laborer's  heel 

Homeward  returning.     High  in  front  advanced, 

The  brandished  sword  of  God  before  them  blazed, 

Fierce  as  a  comet ;  which,  with  torrid  heat, 

And  vapor  as  the  Libyan  air  adust. 

Began  to  parch  that  temperate  clime ;  whereat, 

In  either  hand  the  hastening  angel  caught 

Our  lingering  parents,  and,  to  the'  eastern  gate 

Led  them  direct,  and  down  the  cliff  as  fast 

To  the  subjected  plain  ;  then  disappeared. 

4.  They,  looking  back,  all  the'  eastern  side  beheld 
Of  Paradise,  so  late  their  happy  seat, 

Waved  over  by  that  flaming  brand  ;  the  gate 
With  dreadful  faces  thronged,  and  fiery  arms. 
Some  natural  tears  they  dropped,  but  wiped  them  soon 
The  world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide  ! 
They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way. 


LESSON  CXXX.     Sonnet,   on  his  Blindness,  by  Milton, 

When  I  consider  how  my  life  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide^ 


272  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  he  returning,  chide  ; 
"  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied  ?  " 

I  fondly  ask.     But  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "  God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts  ;  who  best 

Bears  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best ;  his  state 
Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 


LESSON   CXXXL      The  Power  of  God,  as   illustrated 
by  Astronomy. 

1.  A  VERY  slight  view  of  the  planetary  system  is  sufficient 
to  impress  our  minds  with  an  overpowering  sense  of  the 
grandeur  and  omnipotence  of  the  Deity.  In  one  part  of  it 
we  behold  a  globe  fourteen  hundred  times  larger  than  our 
world,  flying  through  the  depths  of  space,  and  carrying 
along  with  it  a  retinue  of  revolving  worlds  in  its  swift 
career.  In  a  more  distant  region  of  this  system,  we  behold 
another  globe,  of  nearly  the  same  size,  surrounded  by  two 
magnificent  rings,  which  would  enclose  five  hundred  worlds 
as  large  as  ours,  winging  its  flight  through  the  regions  of 
immensity,  and  conveying  along  with  it  seven  planetary  bod- 
ies larger  than  our  moon,  over  a  circumference  of  five  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  millions  of  miles. 

2.  Were  we  to  suppose  ourselves  placed  on  the  nearest 
satellite  of  this  planet,  and  were  the  satellite  supposed  to  be 
at  rest,  we  should  behold  a  scene  of  grandeur  altogether 
overwhelming ;  a  globe  filling  a  great  portion  of  the  visible 
heavens,  encircled  by  its  immense  rings,  and  surrounded  by 
its  moons,  each  moving  in  its  distinct  sphere  and  around  its 
axis,  and  all  at  the  same  time  flying  before  us  in  perfect  har- 
mony, with  the  velocity  of  twenty-two  thousand  miles  an 
hour.  Such  a  scene  would  far  transcend  everything  we 
now  behold  from  our  terrestrial  sphere,  and  all  the  concep 


THE   POWER   OF   GOD.  273 

tions  we  can  possibly  form  of  motion,  of  sublimity,  and  of 
grandeur. 

3.  Contemplating  such  an  assemblage  of  magnificent  ob- 
jects moving  through  the  ethereal  regions  with  such  aston- 
ishing velocity,  we  would  feel  the  full  force  of  the  sentiment 
of  inspiration ;  "  The  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth. 
His  power  is  irresistible ;  his  greatness  is  unsearchable ; 
wonderful  things  doth  He,  which  we  cannot  comprehend." 
The  motions  of  the  bodies  which  compose  this  system  convey 
an  impressive  idea  of  the  agency  and  the  energies  of  Om- 
nipotence. 

4.  One  of  these  bodies,  eighty  times  larger  than  tho 
earth,  and  the  slowest-moving  orb  in  the  system,  is  found  to 
move  through  its  expansive  orbit  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  thou- 
sand miles  an  hour ;  another,  at  twenty-nine  thousand  miles 
in  the  same  period,  although  it  is  more  than  a  thousand  times 
the  size  of  our  globe ;  another,  at  the  rate  of  eighty  thou- 
sand miles;  and  a  fourth,  with  a  velocity. of  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  miles  every  hour,  or  thirty  miles  during 
every  beat  of  our  pulse. 

5.  The  mechanical  forces  requisite  to  produce  such  mo- 
tions, surpass  the  mathematician's  skill  to  estimate,  or  the 
power  of  numbers  to  express.  Such  astonishing  velocities, 
in  bodies  of  so  stupendous  a  magnitude,  though  incompre- 
hensible and  overwhelming  to  our  limited  faculties,  exhibit  a 
most  convincing  demonstration  of  the  existence  of  an  agen- 
cy and  a  power  which  no  created  beings  can  ever  counter- 
act, and  which  no  limits  can  control. 

6.  Above  all,  the  central  body  of  this  system  presents  to 
our  view  an  object  which  is  altogether  overpowering  to  hu- 
man intellects,  and  of  which,  in  our  present  state,  we  shall 
never  be  able  to  form  an  adequate  conception.  A  luminous 
globe,  thirteen  hundred  thousand  times  larger  than  our 
world,  and  five  hundred  times  more  capacious  than  all  the 
planets,  satellites,  and  comets  taken  together,  and  this  body 
revolving  round  its  axis  and  through  the  regions  of  space, 
extending  its  influences  to  the  remotest  spaces  of  the  system, 
and  retaining  by  its  attractive  power  all  the  planets  in  their 
orbits,  is  an  object  which  the  limited  faculties  of  the  human 
mind,  however  improved,  can  never  grasp,  in  all  its  magni- 
tude and  relations,  so  as  to  form  a  full  and  comprehensive 
idea  of  its  magnificence. 


274  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

7.  But  it  displays  in  a  most  astonishing  manner  the  gran- 
deur of  him  who  launched  it  into  existence,  and  lighted  it 
up,  "  by  the  breath  of  his  mouth  "  ;  and  it  exhibits  to  all  in- 
telligences, a  demonstration  of  his  "  eternal  pouer  and  god- 
head." So  that,  although  there  were  no  bodies  existing  in 
the  universe  but  those  of  the  planetary  system,  they  would 
afford  an  evidence  of  a  power  to  which  no  limits  can  be  as- 
signed; a  power  which  is  infinite,  universal,  and  uncoa- 
trollable. 


LESSON  CXXXII.     Ocean. 

1.  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean, —  roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain  ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin,  — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  aue  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 

A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own. 
When,  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
"Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoflined,  and  unknown. 

2.  His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths,  —  thy  fields 
Are  not  a  spoil  for  him,  —  thou  dost  arise 

And  shake  him  from  thee  ;  the  vile  strength  he  wields 
For  earth's  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise. 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies. 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray 
And  howling,  to  his  Gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth  ;  —  there  let  him  lay. 

3.  The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals. 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war  ; 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar 


RELIGION  275 

4.  Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee,  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they  1 
Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free", 

And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage  ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts ;  -^  not  so  thou. 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play,  — 
Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow,  — > 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now* 

5.  Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests  ;  in  all  time. 

Calm  or  convulsed,  —  in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime,— 
The  image  of  Eternity,  —  the  throne 
Of  the  invisible  ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

6.  And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean  !  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward ;  from  a  boy 
I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers,  —  they  to  me 
Were  a  delight ;  and,  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror,  —  't  was  a  pleasing  fear. 
For  I  was  as  it  were  a  child  of  thee. 

And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near. 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane,— as  I  do  here. 


LESSON  CXXXIII.     Religion  in  the  People  necessary  to 
good  Government. 

1.  Op  all  the  dispositions  and  habits,  which  lead  to  politi- 
cal prosperity,  religion  and  morality  are  indispensable  sup- 
ports. In  vain  would  that  man  claim  the  tribute  of  patriot- 
ism, who  should  labor  to  subvert  these  great  pillars  of  human 
happiness,  —  these  firmest  props  of  the  duties  of  men  and 
citizens.  The  mere  politician,  equally  with  the  pious  man, 
ought  to  respect  and  to  cherish  them.  A  volume  could  not 
trace  all  their  cqnnexions  with  private  and  public  felicity. 


276  THE   FOURTH   READER. 

2.  Let  it  be  simply  asked,  where  is  the  security  for  prop- 
erty, for  reputation,  for  life,  if  the  sense  of  religious  obligation 
desert  the  oaths,  which  are  the  instruments  of  investigation 
in  courts  of  justice  ?  And  let  us  with  caution  indulge  the 
supposition,  that  morality  can  be  maintained  without  religion. 
Whatever  may  be  conceded  to  the  influence  of  refined  edu- 
cation on  minds  of  peculiar  structure,  reason  and  experience 
both  forbid  us  to  expect,  that  national  morality  can  prevail  in 
exclusion  of  religious  principles, 

3.  It  is  substantially  true,  that  virtue  or  morality  is  a 
necessary  spring  of  popular  government.  The  rule,  indeed, 
extends  with  more  or  less  force  to  every  species  of  free  gov- 
ernment. Who,  that  is  a  sincere  friend  to  it,  can  look  with 
indifference  upon  attempts  to  shake  the  foundation  of  the 
fabric  ? 

4.  Promote,  then,  as  an  object  of  primary  importance, 
institutions  for  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  structure  of  a  government  gives  force  to  pub- 
lic opinion,  it  is  essential  that  public  opinion  should  be 
enlightened.  Observe  good  faith  and  justice  towards  all 
nations :  cultivate  peace  and  harmony  with  all ;  religion  and 
morality  enjoin  this  conduct ;  and  can  it  be  that  good  poli- 
cy does  not  equally  enjoin  it?  It  will  be  worthy  of  a  free, 
enlightened,  and,  at  no  distant  period,  a  great  nation,  to 
give  to  mankind  the  magnanimous,  and  too  novel,  example 
of  a  people  always  guided  by  an  exalted  justice  and  benev- 
olence. 

5.  Who  can  doubt,  that,  in  the  course  of  time  and  things, 
the  fruits  of  such  a  plan  would  richly  repay  any  temporary 
advantages  which  might  be  lost  by  a  steady  adherence  to  it  ? 
Can  it  be,  that  Providence  has  not  connected  the  permanent 
felicity  of  a  nation  with  its  virtue  1  The  experiment,  at 
least,  is  recommended  by  every  sentiment  which  ennobles 
human  nature.  Alas !  is  it  rendered  impossible  by  its 
vices? 


LESSON  CXXXIV.     Power  of  the  Soul 

1.  —  Life  in  itself,  it  life  to  all  things  gives. 
For  whatsoe'er  it  looks  on  that  thing  lives,  — 


POWER    OF    THE    SOUL.  277 

Becomes  an  acting  being,  ill  or  good : 

And,  grateful  to  its  Giver,  tenders  food 

For  the  Soul's  health,  or,  suffering  change  unblest. 

Pours  poison  down  to  rankle  in  the  breast. 

As  is  the  man,  e'en  so  it  bears  its  part, 

And  answers,  thought  to  thought,  and  heart  to  heart. 

2.  Yes,  man  reduplicates  himself.     You  see. 
In  yonder  lake,  reflected  rock  and  tree. 
Each  leaf  at  rest,  or  quivering  in  the  air, 
Now  rests,  now  stirs,  as  if  a  breeze  were  there 
Sweeping  the  crystal  depths.     How  perfect  all ! 
And  see  those  slender  top-boughs  rise  and  fall ; 
The  double  strips  of  silvery  sand  unite 
Above,  below,  each  grain  distinct  and  bright. 

—  Thou  bird,  that  seek'st  thy  food  upon  that  bough. 
Peck  not  alone ;  that  bird  below,  as  thou, 

Is  busy  after  food,  and  happy,  too. 

—  They  're  gone  !    Both,  pleased,  away  together  flew. 

3.  And  see  we  thus  sent  up,  rock,  sand,  and  wood, 
Life,  joy,  and  motion  from  the  sleepy  flood  ? 
The  world,  O  man,  is  like  that  flood  to  thee  : 
Turn  where  thou  wilt,  thyself  in  all  things  see 
Reflected  back.     As  drives  the  blinding  sand 
Round  Egypt's  piles,  where'er  thou  tak'st  thy  stand. 
If  that  thy  heart  be  barren,  there  will  sweep 

The  drifting  waste;  like  waves  along  the  deep, 
Fill  up  the  vale,  and  choke  the  laijghing  streams 
That  ran  by  grass  and  brake,  with  dancing  beams. 
Sear  the  fresh  woods,  and  from  thy  heavy  eye 
Veil  the  wide-shifting  glories  of  the  sky, 
And  one,  still,  sightless  level  make  the  earth, 
Like  thy  dull,  lonely,  joyless  Soul,  —  a  dearth. 

4.  The  rill  is  tuneless  to  his  ear  who  feels 
No  harmony  within  ;  the  south  wind  steals 
As  silent  as  unseen  amongst  the  leaves. 
Who  has  no  inward  beauty,  none  perceives, 
Though  all  around  is  beautiful.     Nay  more, 
In  nature's  calmest  hour  he  hears  the  roar 

Of  winds  and  flinging  waves,  —  puts  out  the  light, 
When  high  and  angry  passions  meet  in  fight ; 
24 


278  THE  FOURTH  READER 

And,  his  own  spirit  into  tumult  hurled^ 
He  makes  a  turmoil  of  a  quiet  world. 
The  fiends  of  his  own  bosom  people  air 
With  kindred  fiends,  that  hunt  him  to  despair. 
Hates  he  his  fellow-men  ?     Why,  then,  he  deems 
'T  is  hate  for  hate ;  —  as  he,  so  each  one  seems. 

6.  Soul !  fearful  is  thy  power,  which  thus  transforms 
All  things  into  its  likeness ;  heaves  in  storms 
The  strong,  proud  sea,  or  lays  it  down  to  rest, 
Like  the  hushed  infant  on  its  mother's  breast, — 
Which  gives  each  outward  circumstance  its  hue, 
And  shapes  all  others'  acts  and  thoughts  anew, 
That  so,  they  joy,  or  love,  or  hate  impart. 
As  joy,  love,  hate,  holds  rule  within  the  heart. 


LESSON  CXXXV.     The  Voyage  of  Life. 

1.  '*  Life,"  says  Seneca,  "  is  a  voyage,  in  the  progress 
of  which,  we  are  perpetually  changing  our  scenes.  We  first 
leave  childhood  behind  us,  then  youth,  then  the  years  of 
ripened  manhood,  then  the  better  and  more  pleasing  part  of 
old  age."  The  perusal  of  this  passage  having  excited  in 
me  a  train  of  reflections  on  the  state  of  man,  the  incessant 
fluctuations  of  his  wishes,  the  gradual  change  of  his  disposi- 
tion to  all  external  objects,  and  the  thoughtlessness  with 
which  he  floats  along  the  stream  of  time,  I  sank  into  a 
slumber  amidst  my  meditations,  and,  on  a  sudden,  found  my 
ears  filled  with  the  tumult  of  labor,  the  shouts  of  alacrity, 
the  shrieks  of  alarm,  the  whistle  of  winds,  and  the  dash  of 
waters. 

2.  My  astonishment  for  a  time  repressed  my  curiosity ; 
but,  soon  recovering  myself  so  far  as  to  inquire  whither  we 
were  going,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  such  clamor  and 
confusion,  I  was  told  that  we  were  launching  out  into  the 
ocean  of  life;  that  we  had  already  passed  the  straits  of 
infancy,  in  which  multitudes  had  perished,  some  by  the 
weakness  and  fragility  of  their  vessels,  asd  more  by  the  folly, 
perverseness,  or  negligence,  of  those  who  undertook  to  steer 


THE    VOYAGE   OF   LIFE.  279 

tfeem;  and  that  we  now  were  on  the  main  sea,  abandoned 
to  the  winds  and  billows,  without  any  other  means  of  secu- 
rity than  the  care  of  the  pilot,  whom  it  was  always  in  our 
power  to  choose  among  great  numbers  that  offered  their  di- 
rection and  assistance. 

3.  I  then  looked  round  with  anxious  eagerness  ;  and  first, 
turning  my  eyes  behind  me,  saw  a  stream  flowing  through 
flowery  islands,  which  every  one  that  sailed  along  seemed 
to  behold  with  pleasure  ;  but  no  sooner  touched,  than  the 
current,  which,  though  not  noisy  or  turbulent,  was  yet  irre- 
sistible, bore  him  away.  Beyond  these  islands  all  was  dark- 
ness, nor  could  any  of  the  passengers  describe  the  shore  at 
which  he  first  embarked. 

4.  Before  me,  and  on  each  side,  was  an  expanse  of  water 
violently  agitated,  and  covered  with  so  thick  a  mist,  that  the 
most  perspicacious  eye  could  see  but  a  little  way.  It  ap- 
peared to  be  full  of  rocks  and  whirlpools,  for  many  sunk 
unexpectedly  while  they  were  courting  the  gale  with  full 
sails,  and  insulting  those  whom  they  had  left  behind.  So 
numerous,  indeed,  were  the  dangers,  and  so  thick  the 
darkness,  that  no  caution  could  confer  security.  Yet  there 
were  many,  who,  by  false  intelligence,  betrayed  their  fol- 
lowers into  whirlpools,  or  by  violence  pushed  those  whom 
they  found  in  their  way,  against  the  rocks. 

5.  The  current  was  invariable  and  insurmountable ;  but 
though  it  was  impossible  to  sail  against  it,  or  to  return  to 
the  place  that  was  once  passed,  yet  it  was  not  so  violent  as 
to  allow  no  opportunities  for  dexterity  or  courage,  since, 
though  none  could  retreat  back  from  danger,  yet  they  might 
often  avoid  it  by  an  oblique  direction. 

6.  It  was,  however,  not  very  common  to  steer  with  much 
care  or  prudence  ;  for,  by  some  universal  infatuation,  every 
man  appeared  to  think  himself  safe,  though  he  saw  his  con- 
sorts every  moment  sinking  around  him ;  and  no  sooner  had 
the  waves  closed  over  them,  than  their  fate  and  their  mis- 
conduct were  forgotten ;  the  voyage  was  pursued  with  the 
same  jocund  confidence;  every  man  congratulated  himself 
upon  the  soundness  of  his  vessel,  and  believed  himself  able 
to  stem  the  whirlpool  in  which  his  friend  was  swallowed,  or 
glide  over  the  rocks  on  which  he  was  dashed.  Nor  was 
it  often  observed,  that  the  sight  of  a  wreck  made  any  man 
change  his  course ;  if  he  turned  aside  for  a  moment,  he 


280  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

soon  forgot  the  rudder,  and  left  himself  again  to  the  dis- 
posal of  chance. 

7.  This  negligence  did  not  proceed  from  indifference  or 
from  weariness  of  their  present  condition ;  for  not  one  of 
those,  who  thus  rushed  upon  destruction,  failed,  when  he 
was  sinking,  to  call  loudly  upon  his  associates  for  that  help 
which  could  not  now  be  given  him  ;  and  many  spent  their 
last  moments  in  cautioning  others  against  the  folly  by  which 
they  were  intercepted  in  the  midst  of  their  course.  Their 
benevolence  was  sometimes  praised,  but  their  admonitions 
were  unregarded. 

8.  The  vessels  in  which  we  had  embarked  being  confess- 
edly unequal  to  the  turbulence  of  the  stream  of  life,  were 
visibly  impaired  in  the  course  of  the  voyage ;  so  that  every 
passenger  was  certain,  that,  how  long  soever  he  might,  by 
favorable  accidents,  or  by  incessant  vigilance,  be  preserved, 
he  must  sink  at  last. 

9.  This  necessity  of  perishing  might  have  been  expected 
to  sadden  the  gay,  and  intimidate  the  daring;  at  least,  to 
keep  the  melancholy  and  timorous  in  perpetual  torments, 
and  hinder  them  from  any  enjoyment  of  the  varieties  and 
gratifications  which  nature  offered  them  as  the  solace  of  their 
labors ;  yet,  in  effect,  none  seemed  less  to  expect  destruc- 
tion, than  those  to  whom  it  was  most  dreadful ;  they  all 
had  the  art  of  concealing  their  danger  from  themselves  ;  and 
those  who  knew  their  inability  to  bear  the  sight  of  the  ter- 
rors that  embarrassed  their  way,  took  care  never  to  look 
forward,  but  found  some  amusement  for  the  present  mo- 
ment, and  generally  entertained  themselves  with  playing 
with  Hope,  who  was  the  constant  associate  of  the  voyage 
of  life. 

10.  Yet  all  that  Hope  ventured  to  promise  to  those  whom 
she  favored  most,  was,  not  that  they  should  escape,  but 
that  they  should  sink  last ;  and  with  this  promise,  every 
one  was  satisfied,  though  he  laughed  at  the  rest  for  seem- 
ing to  believe  it.  Hope,  indeed,  apparently  mocked  the 
credulity  of  her  companions ;  for,  in  proportion  as  their 
vessels  grew  leaky,  she  redoubled  their  assurances  of  safety  j 
and  none  were  more  busy  in  making  provisions  for  a  long 
voyage,  than  they,  whom  all  but  themselves  saw  likely  to 
perish  soon  by  irreparable  decay. 

11.  In  the  midst  of  the  current  of  life  was  the  Gulf  of 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    LIFE.  281 

Intemperance,  a  dreadful  whirlpool,  interspersed  with  rocks, 
of  which  the  pointed  crags  were  concealed  under  water, 
and  the  tops  covered  with  herbage,  on  which  Ease  spread 
couches  of  repose,  and  with  shades  where  Pleasure  war- 
bled the  song  of  invitation.  Within  sight  of  these  rocks, 
all  who  sailed  on  the  ocean  of  life  must  necessarily  pass. 

12.  Reason,  indeed,  was  always  at  hand  to  steer  the  pas- 
sengers through  a  narrow  outlet  by  which  they  might  es- 
cape ;  but  very  few  could,  by  her  entreaties  or  remonstran- 
ces, be  induced  to  put  the  rudder  into  her  hand,  without 
stipulating,  that  she  should  approach  so  near  unto  the  rocks 
of  Pleasure  that  they  might  solace  themselves  with  a  short 
enjoyment  of  that  delicious  region,  after  which,  they  always 
determined  to  pursue  their  course  without  any  other  devi- 
ation. 

13.  Reason  was  too  often  prevailed  upon  so  far  by  these 
promises  as  to  venture  her  charge  within  the  eddy  of  the 
gulf  of  Intemperance,  where,  indeed,  the  circumvolution 
was  weak,  but  yet  interrupted  the  course  of  the  vessel,  and 
drew  it,  by  insensible  rotations,  towards  the  centre.  She 
then  repented  her  temerity,  and,  with  all  her  force,  endeav- 
ored to  retreat ;  but  the  draught  of  the  gulf  was  generally 
too  strong  to  be  overcome  ;  and  the  passenger,  having  danced 
in  circles  with  a  pleasing  and  giddy  velocity,  was  at  last 
overwhelmed  and  lost. 

14.  Those  {qw,  whom  Reason  was  able  to  extricate,  gen- 
erally suffered  so  many  shocks  upon  the  points  which  shot 
out  from  the  rocks  of  Pleasure,  that  they  were  unable  to 
continue  their  course  with  the  same  strength  and  facility  as 
before,  but  floated  along  timorously  and  feebly,  endangered 
by  every  breeze,  and  shattered  by  every  ruffle  of  water,  till 
they  sunk,  by  slow  degrees,  after  long  struggles  and  innu- 
merable expedients,  always  repining  at  their  own  folly,  and 
warning  others  against  the  first  approach  to  the  gulf  of  In- 
temperance. 

15.  There  were  artists,  who  professed  to  repair  the 
breaches,  and  stop  the  leaks,  of  the  vessels  which  had  been 
shattered  on  the  rocks  of  Pleasure.  Many  appeared  to  have 
great  confidence  in  their  skill,  and  some,  indeed,  were  pre- 
served by  it  from  sinking,  who  had  received  only  a  single 
blow.  But  I  remarked,  that  few  vessels  lasted  long  which 
had  been  much  repaired,  nor  was  it  found  that  the  artists 

24* 


283  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

themselves  continued  to  float  longer  than  those  who    had 
least  of  their  assistance. 

16.  The  only  advantage,  which,  in  the  voyage  of  life,  the 
cautious  had  above  the  negligent,  was,  that  they  sunk  later, 
and  more  suddenly !  for  they  passed  forward  till  they  had 
sometimes  seen  all  those  in  whose  company  they  had  issued 
from  the  straits  of  Infancy,  perish  in  the  way,  and  at  last 
were  overset  by  a  cross  breeze,  without  the  toil  of  resist- 
ance, or  the  anguish  of  expectation.  But  such  as  had  often 
fallen  against  the  rocks  of  Pleasure,  commonly  subsided  by 
sensible  degrees,  contended  long  with  the  encroaching 
waters,  and  harassed  themselves  by  labors,  that  scarce  Hope 
herself  could  flatter  with  success. 

17.  As  I  was  looking  upon  the  various  fate  of  the  multi- 
tude about  me,  I  was  suddenly  alarmed  with  an  admonition 
from  some  unknown  power ;  "  Gaze  not  idly  upon  others, 
when  thou  thyself  art  sinking.  Whence  is  this  thoughtless 
tranquillity,  when  thou  and  they  are  equally  endangered?  " 
1  looked,  and  seeing  the  gulf  of  Intemperance  before  me, 
started  and  awaked. 


LESSON  CXXXVI.     The  Coming  of  a  Devastating 
Army.     Joel,  Chapter  ii.  Verses  1  — 13. 

Blow  ye  the  trumpet  in  Sion  ; 

And  sound  an  alarm  in  mine  holy  mountain  ; 

Let  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  land  tremble  ; 

For  the  day  of  Jehovah  cometh,  for  it  is  near; 

A  day  of  darkness  and  gloominess; 

A  day  of  clouds  and  of  thick  darkness. 

As  the  dusk  spread  upon  the  mountains, 

Cometh  a  numerous  people  and  a  strong. 

Like  them  there  hath  not  been  of  old  time, 

And  after  them  there  shall  not  be, 

Even  to  the  years  of  many  generations. 

Before  them  a  fire  devoureth. 

And  behind  a  flame  burneth ; 

The  land  is  as  the  garden  of  Eden  before  them,    . 

And  behind  them  a  desolate  wilderness ;    . 

Yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.    . 


THE  CONSEQUENCES    OF  ATHEISM.       283 

3.  Their  appearance  shall  be  like  the  appearance  of  horses, 
And  like  horsemen  shall  they  run  ; 

Like  the  sound  of  chariots  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains 

shall  they  leap ; 
Like  the  sound  of  a  flame  of  fire  which  devoureth  stubble. 
They  shall  be  like  a  strong  people  set  in  battle  array. 
Before  them  shall  the  people  be  much  pained 
All  faces  shall  gather  blackness, 
They  shall  run  like  mighty  men  ;: 
Like  warriors  shall  they  climb  the  wall ; 
And  they  shall  march  every  one  in  his  way  ; 
Neither  shall  they  turn  aside  from  their  paths  ; 
Neither  shall  one  thrust  another  ; 
They  shall  march  each  in  his  road ; 
And  if  they  fall  upon  the  sword  they  shall  not  be  wounded. 

4.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in  the  city,  they  shall  run  upon 

the  wall,  they  shall  climb  up  into  the  houses ; 
They  shall  enter  in  at  the  windows  like  a  thief. 
Before  them  the  earth  quaketh,  the  heavens  tremble ; 
The  sun  and  moon  are  darkened ; 
And  the  stars  withdraw  their  shining. 
And  Jehovah  shall  utter  his  voice  before  his  army  ; 
For  his  camp  is  very  great ; 
For  he  is  strong  that  executeth  his  word; 
For  the  day  of  Jehovah  is  great ; 
And  very  terrible  ;  and  who  shall  be  able  to  bear  it? 
Yet  even  now  saith  Jehovah,. 
Turn  ye  unto  me  with  all  your  heart ; 
With  fasting  and  with  weeping  and  with  mourning ; 
And  rend  your  hearts,  and  not  your  garments ; 
And  turn  unto  Jehovah  your  God  ; 
For  he  is  gracious  and  merciful ; 
Slow  to  anger  and  of  great  kindness. 
And  repenteth  him  of  evil. 


LESSON   CXXXVIL     The  Consequences  of  Atheism, 

1.  Few  men  suspect,  perhaps  no  man  comprehends,  the 
extent  of  the  support  given  by  religion  to  every  virtue.  No 
man,  perhaps,  is  aware  how  much  our  moral  and  social  sen- 


384  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

tiraents  are  fed  from  this  fountain ;  how  powerless  conscience 
would  become  without  the  belief  of  a  God ;  how  palsied 
would  be  human  benevolence,  were  tliere  not  the  sense  of  a 
higher  benevolence,  to  quicken  and  sustain  it ;  how  sudden- 
ly the  whole  social  fabric  would  quake,  and  with  what  a 
fearful  crash  it  would  sink  into  hopeless  ruins,  were  the 
ideas  of  a  Supreme  Being,  of  accountableness,  and  of  a  fu- 
ture life,  to  be  utterly  erased  from  every  mind. 

2.  Once  let  men  thoroughly  believe,  that  they  are  the 
work  and  sport  of  chance ;  that  no  Superior  Intelligence 
concerns  itself  with  human  affairs ;  that  all  their  improve- 
ments perish  forever  at  death ;  that  the  weak  have  no  guar- 
dian, and  the  injured  no  avenger  ;  that  there  is  no  recom- 
pense for  sacrifices  to  uprightness  and  the  public  good ;  that 
an  oath  is  unheard  in  heaven ;  that  secret  crimes  have  no 
witness  but  the  perpetrator ;  that  human  existence  has  no 
purpose,  and  human  virtue  no  unfailing  friend ;  that  this 
brief  life  is  everything  to  us,  and  death  is  total,  everlasting 
extinction, — once  let  men  thoroughly  abandon  religion,  and 
who  can  conceive  or  describe  the  extent  of  the  desolation 
which  would  follow? 

3.  We  hope,  perhaps,  that  human  laws  and  natural  sym- 
pathy would  hold  society  together.  As  reasonably  might  we 
believe,  that,  were  the  sun  quenched  in  the  heavens,  our 
torches  could  illuminate,  and  our  fires  quicken  and  fertilize, 
the  creation.  What  is  there  in  human  nature  to  awaken 
respect  and  tenderness,  if  man  is  the  unprotected  insect  of  a 
day  ?  and  what  is  he  more,  if  atheism  be  true  ?  Erase  all 
thought  and  fear  of  God  from  a  community,  and  selfishness 
and  sensuality  would  absorb  the  whole  man. 

4.  Appetite,  knowing  no  restraint,  and  poverty  and  suffer- 
ing, having  no  solace  or  hope,  would  trample  in  scorn  on 
the  restraints  of  human  laws.  Virtue,  duty,  principle,  would 
be  mocked  and  spurned  as  unmeaning  sounds.  A  sordid 
self-interest  would  supplant  every  other  feeling,  and  man 
would  become  in  fact,  what  the  theory  of  atheism  declares 
him  to  be,  a  companion  for  brutes ! 


CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON.   285 


LESSON  CXXXVIIL     Character  of  a  Good  Parson. 

1.  A  PARISH  priest  was  of  the  pilgrim  train  ; 
An  awful,  reverend,  and  religious  man. 
His  eyes  diffused  a  venerable  grace, 
And  charity  itself  was  in  his  face. 

Rich  was  his  soul,  though  his  attire  was  poor ; 
(As  God  had  clothed  his  own  ambassador) 
For  such  on  earth,  his  blessed  Redeemer  bore. 

2.  Of  sixty  years  he  seemed ;  and  well  might  last 
To  sixty  more,  but  that  he  lived  too  fast ; 
Refined  himself  to  soul,  to  curb  the  sense, 
And  made  almost  a  sin  of  abstinence. 

Yet  had  his  aspect  nothing  of  severe. 
But  such  a  face  as  promised  him  sincere; 
Nothing  reserved  or  sullen  was  to  see, 
But  sweet  regards,  and  pleasing  sanctity  ; 
Mild  was  his  accent,  and  his  action  free. 

3.  With  eloquence  innate  his  tongue  was  armed. 
Though  harsh  the  precept,  yet  the  preacher  charmed. 
For,  letting  down  the  golden  chain  from  high, 

He  drew  his  audience  upward  to  the  sky  ; 
And  oft  with  holy  hymns  he  charmed  their  ears, 
(A  music  more  melodious  than  the  spheres;) 
For  David  left  him,  when  he  went  to  rest. 
His  lyre;  and,  after  him,  he  sung  the  best. 

4.  He  bore  his  great  commission  in  his  look. 

But  sweetly  tempered  awe,  and  softened  all  he  spoke. 
He  preached  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  pains  of  hell, 
And  warned  the  sinner  with  becoming  zeal ; 
But  on  eternal  mercy  loved  to  dwell. 
He  taught  the  gospel  rather  than  the  law, 
And  forced  himself  to  drive,  but  loved  to  draw ; 
For  fear  but  freezes  minds ;  but  love,  like  heat, 
Exhales  the  soul  sublime  to  seek  her  native  seat 


286  THE   FOURTH    READER, 


LESSON  CXXXIX.     Studies  for  the  Statesman. 

1.  All  society  is  an  affair  of  mutual  concession.  If  we 
expect  to  derive  the  benefits  which  are  incident  to  it,  we 
must  sustain  our  reasonable  share  of  burdens.  The  great 
interests  which  it  is  intended  to  guard  and  cherish  must  be 
supported  by  their  reciprocal  action  and  reaction.  The  har- 
mony of  its  parts  is  disturbed,  the  discipline  which  is  nec- 
essary to  its  order  is  incomplete,  when  one  of  the  three 
great  and  essential  branches  of  its  industry  is  abandoned 
and  unprotected. 

2.  If  you  want  to  find  an  example  of  order,  of  freedom 
from  debt,  of  economy,  of  expenditure  falling  below,  rather 
than  exceeding  income,  you  will  go  to  the  welUregulated 
family  of  a  farmer.  You  will  go  to  the  house  of  such  a 
man  as  Isaac  Shelby.  You  will  not  find  him  haunting  tav- 
erns, engaged  in  broils,  or  prosecuting  angry  lawsuits. 

3.  You  will  behold  every  member  of  his  family  clad  with 
the  produce  of  their  own  hands,  and  usefully  employed,  the 
spinning-wheel  and  the  loom  in  motion  by  daybreak.  With 
what  pleasure  will  his  wife  carry  you  into  her  neat  dairy, 
lead  you  into  her  store-house,  and  point  you  to  the  table- 
cloths, the  sheets,  the  counterpanes,  which  lie  on  this  shelf 
for  one  daughter,  or  on  that  for  another,  all  prepared  in  ad- 
vance by  her  provident  care  for  the  day  of  their  respective 
marriages. 

4.  If  you  want  to  see  an  opposite  example,  go  to  the 
house  of  a  man  who  manufactures  nothing  at  home,  whose 
family  resorts  to  the  store  for  every  thing  they  consume. 
You  will  find  him  perhaps  in  the  tavern,  or  at  the  shop  at  the 
cross-roads.  He  is  engaged,  with  the  rum  grog  on  the  ta- 
ble, taking  depositions  to  make  out  some  case  of  usury  or 
fraud. 

5.  Or,  perhaps  he  is  furnishing  to  his  lawyer  the  materials 
to  prepare  a  long  bill  of  injunction  in  some  intricate  case. 
The  sheriff  is  hovering  about  his  farm  to  serve  some  new 
writ.  On  court  days  (he  never  misses  attending  them)  you 
will  find  him  eagerly  collecting  his  witnesses,  to  defend 
himself  against  the  merchant's  and  doctor's  claims. 

6.  Go  to  his  house,  and,  after  the  short  and  giddy  period 
that  his  wife  and  daughters  have  flirted  about  the  country  in 


THE  PURITANS.  287; 

their  calico  and  muslin  frocks,  what  a  scene  of  discomfort 
and  distress  is  presented  to  you  there  !  What  the  indi- 
vidual family  of  Isaac  Shelby  is,  I  wish  to  see  the  nation  in 
the  aggregate  become.  But  I  fear  we  shall  shortly  have  to 
contemplate  its  resemblance  in  the  opposite  picture.  If 
statesmen  would  carefully  observe  the  conduct  of  private 
individuals  in  the  management  of  their  own  affairs,  they 
would  have  much  surer  guides  in.  promoting  the  interests  of 
the  state,  than  the  visionary  speculations  of  theoretical 
writers. 


LESSON  CXL.     The  Puritans. 

1.  The  first  years  of  the  residence  of  the  Puritans  in 
America,  were  years  of  great  hardship  and  affliction.  It  is 
an  error  to  suppose,  that  this  short  season  of  distress  was  not 
promptly  followed  l3y  abundance  and  happiness.  The  peo- 
ple were  full  of  afflictions,  and  the  objects  of  love  were 
around  them.  They  struck  root  in  the  soil  immediately. 
They  enjoyed  religion.  They  were,  from  the  first,  indus- 
trious, and  enterprising,  and  frugal ;  and  affluence  followed 
of  course.  When  persecution  ceased  in  England,  there 
were  already  in  New  England  "  thousands  who  would  not 
change  their  place  for  any  other  in  the  world"  ;  and  they 
were  tempted  in  vain  with  invitations  to  the  Bahama  Isles, 
to  Ireland,  to  Jamaica,  to  Trinidad. 

2.  The  purity  of  morals  completes  the  picture  of  colonial 
felicity.  "  As  Ireland  will  not  brook  venomous  beasts,  so  will 
not  that  land  vile  livers."  One  might  dwell  there  "  from 
year  to  year,  and  not  see  a  drunkard,  or  hear  an  oath,  or 
meet  a  beggar."  The  consequence  was  universal  health,  — 
one  of  the  chief  elements  of  public  happiness. 

3.  The  average  duration  of  life  in  New  England,  com- 
pared with  Europe,  was  doubled  ;  and  the  human  race  was 
so  vigorous,  that,  of  all  who  were  born  into  the  world,  more 
than  two  in  ten,  full  four  in  nineteen,  attained  the  age  of 
seventy.  Of  those  wh#lived  beyond  ninety,  the  proportion, 
as  compared  with  European  tables  of  longevity,  was  still 
more  remarkable. 

4.  I  have  dwelt  the  longer  on  the  character  of  the  early 


288  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

Puritans  of  New  England,  for  they  are  the  parents  of  one 
third  the  whole  white  population  of  the  United  States.  In 
the  first  ten  or  twelve  years,  —  and  there  was  never  after- 
wards any  considerable  increase  from  England,  —  we  have 
seen,  that  there  came  over  twenty-one  thousand  two  hundred 
persons,  or  four  thousand  families.  Their  descendants  are 
now  not  far  from  four  millions.  Each  family  has  multiplied 
on  the  average  to  one  thousand  souls.  To  New  York  and 
Ohio,  where  they  constitute  half  the  population,  they  have 
carried  the  Puritan  system  of  free  schools  ;  and  their  exam- 
ple is  spreading  it  through  the  civilized  world. 

5.  Historians  have  loved  to  eulogize  the  manners  and 
virtues,  the  glory  and  the  benefits,  of  chivalry.  Puritanism 
accomplished  for  mankind  far  more.  If  it  had  the  sectarian 
crime  of  intolerance,  chivalry  had  the  vices  of  dissoluteness. 
The  knights  were  brave  from  gallantry  of  spirit ;  the  Puri- 
tans from  the  fear  of  God.  The  knights  did  homage  to 
monarchs,  in  whose  smile  they  beheld  honor,  whose  re- 
buke was  the  wound  of  disgrace ;  the  Puritans,  disdaining 
ceremony,  would  not  bow  at  the  name  of  Jesus,  nor  bend 
the  knee  to  the  King  of  Kings. 

6.  Chivalry  delighted  in  outward  show,  favored  pleasure, 
multiplied  amusements,  and  degraded  the  human  race  by  an 
exclusive  respect  for  the  privileged  classes.  Puritanism 
bridled  the  passions,  commended  the  virtues  of  self-denial, 
and  rescued  the  name  of  man  from  dishonor.  The  former 
valued  courtesy,  the  latter  justice.  The  former  adorned 
society  by  graceful  refinements,  the  latter  founded  national 
grandeur  on  universal  education.  The  institutions  of  chiv- 
alry were  subverted  by  the  gradually  increasing  weight,  and 
knowledge,  and  opulence  of  the  industrious  classes ;  the 
Puritans,  rallying  upon  those  classes,  planted  in  their  hearts 
the  undying  principles  of  democratic  liberty. 


LESSON   CXLI.     Cesar's  Funeral. 

It  will  be  recollected,  that  Cesar  was  tlie  cl^f  ruler  of  ancient  Rome,  but 
being  deemed  ambitious,  was  Elain  by  Brutus  and  other. 

Enter  Brutus  and  Cassius,  and  a  throng  of  Citizens. 
Cit.  We  will  be  satisfied ;  let  ua  be  satisfied. 


CESAR'S  FUNERAL. 

Bru.  Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audience,  friends. — 
Cassius  go  you  into  the  other  street, 
And  part  the  numbers.  — 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  them  stay  here  ; 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him ; 
And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Cesar's  death. 

1  Cit.  I  will  hear  Brutus  speak. 

2  Cit.  I  will  hear  Cassius  ;  and  compare  their  reasons, 
When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

Exit  Cassius,  with  soine  of  the  Citizens.     Brutus  goes 
into  the  Rostrum. 

3  Cit.  The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended :  Silence ! 
JBru.  Be  patient  till  the  last. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers !  hear  me  for  my  cause  ; 
and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear :  believe  me  for  mine  hon- 
or ;  and  have  respect  to  mine  honor,  that  you  may  believe ; 
censure  me  in  your  wisdom ;  and  awake  your  senses  that 
you  may  the  better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly, 
any  dear  friend  of  Cesar's,  to  him  I  say,  that  Brutus's  love  to 
Cesar  was  no  less  than  his.  If  then  that  friend  demand, 
why  Brutus  rose  against  Cesar,  this  is  my  answer.  —  Not 
that  I  loved  Cesar  less,  but  that  I  loved  Rome  more.  Had 
you  rather  Gesar  were  living  and  die  all  slaves ;  than  that 
Cesar  were  dead  to  live  all  freemen  1  As  Cesar  loved  me,  I 
weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he 
was  valiant,  1  honor  him  ;  but  as  he  was  ambitious,  1  slew 
him :  There  are  tears  for  his  love ;  joy  for  his  fortune  ; 
honor  for  his  valor ;  and  death  for  his  ambition.  Who  is 
here  so  base,  that  would  be  a  bondman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for 
him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude,  that  would  not 
be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who 
is  here  so  vile,  that  will  not  love  his  country  ?  If  any,  speak ; 
for  him  have  I  offended.  I  pause  for  a  reply. 
Cit.  None,  Brutus,  none. 

[Several  speaking  at  onct.) 
Bru.  Then  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no 
more  to  Cesar,  than  you  should  do  to  Brutus.  The  question 
of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Capitol :  his  glory  not  extenu- 
ated, wherein  he  was  worthy  ;  nor  his  offences  enforced,  for 
which  he  suffered  death. 

Enter  Antony  and  others,  with  Cesar's  Body, 
25 


290  THE  FOURTH  READER.  ^ 

Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony :  who, 
though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  benefit 
of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the  Commonwealth  ;  as  which  of 
you  shall  not?  With  this  I  depart ;  That  as  I  slew  my  best 
Jover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  my- 
self, when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death. 
Cit.  Live,  Brutus,  live!  live! 
Bru.  Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone, 

And,  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony : 

Do  grace  to  Cesar's  corpse,  and  grace  his  speech 

Tending  to  Cesar's  glories;  which  Mark  Antony, 

By  our  permission,  is  allowed  to  make. 

I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart, 

Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke.  {Exit.) 

1  Cit.  Stay,  ho  !  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 
3  Cit.  Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair; 

We  '11  hear  him  :  Noble  Antony,  go  up. 

Ant.  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears; 

I  come  to  bury  Cesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil,  that  men  do,  lives  after  them  ; 
^  The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  I 

So  let  it  be  with  Cesar !     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you,  Cesar  was  ambitious : 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 

And  grievously  hath  Cesar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 

(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man ; 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men,) 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Cesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me  : 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 

Did  this  in  Cesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Cesar  hath  wept* 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition' 


CESAR'S   FUNERAL.  291 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause ; 

What  cause  witholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ?" 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts. 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason  !  —  Bear  with  me  . 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Cesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

1.  Clt.  Methinks,  there  is  much  reason  in  his  sayings. 

4  Cit.  Now  mark  him,  he  begins  again  to  speak. 

Ant.  But  yesterday  the  word  of  Cesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world :  Now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters  \  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
You  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know^  are  honorable  men : 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men; 
But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  sealof  Cesar, 
I  found  it  in  his  closet,  't  is  his  will : 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 
(Which  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,) 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dear  Cesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood ; 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 
And  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, . 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy. 
Unto  their  issue. 

4  Cit.  We  '11  hear  the  will :  Read  it,  Mark  Antony. 

Cit.  The  will,  the  will ;  we  will  hear  Cesar's  will. 

Ant.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends,  I  must  not  read  it;. 
It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Cesar  loved  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men; 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Cesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad  ; 
'T  is  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs;. 
For  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it!' 

4  Cit.  Read  the  will ;  we  will  hear  it,  Antony ; 


292  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

You  shall  read  us  the  will ;  Cesar's  will. 

Cit.  Stand  back  !  room  !  bear  back  ! 

Ant.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Cesar  put  it  on  ; 
*T  was  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent ; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii :  — 
Look  !  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius's  dagger  through: 
See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed; 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Cesar  followed  it ! 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Cesar's  angel : 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Cesar  loved  him ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Cesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitor's  arms, 
duite  vanquished  him  ;  then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 
And  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Cesar  fell. 
O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen ; 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 
O,  now  you  weep ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity  :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Cesar's  vesture  wounded  ?  Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  with  traitors, 

1  Cit.  O  piteous  spectacle ! 

2  Cit,  O  noble  Cesar ! 


LESSON  CXLII.     Courtesy  in  Military  Mm. 

1.  Courtesy  is  something  more  than  a  mere  ornamental 
accomplishment.  It  has  the  high  sanction  of  an  apostolic 
precept,  binding  upon  all  men,  and  is  peculiarly  needful  in 
the  military  profession,  who  should  exhibit  it  towards  niem- 


coCrtesy  in  military  men.        293 

bers  of  the  sarae  profession  in  the  service  of  other  coun- 
tries and  even  towards  enemies.  It  is  especially  due  to  the 
latter,  when  the  fortune  of  war  has  placed  them  in  the  vic- 
tor's- hands. 

2.  The  display  of  this  quality  during  the  middle  ages, 
irradiated  the  darkness  of  the  times,  and  gives,  even  now, 
to  the  institution  of  chivalry  an  enduring  interest.  We  see 
in  it  as  then  exhibited,  the  relics  of  a  high  and  sacred  mo- 
rality ;  the  germs  of  a  new  and  more  perfect  civilization.  If, 
in  these  days  of  light  and  moral  advancement,  we  have  the 
aid  of  nobler  and  more  efficacious  principles,  it  is  yet  exceed- 
ingly useful  in  smoothing  "  the  wrinkled  front  of  grim- 
visaged  war"  ;  in  mitigating  its  evils;  and  in  conducting  to 
its  just  termination. 

3.  During  our  last  war  with  Great  Britain,  several  in- 
stances occurred,  of  mutual  courtesy  between  officers  of  the 
contending  armies,  the  good  effects  of  which  have  not  been 
limited  to  the  circumstances  which  gave  them  bitth.  In  the 
arrangement  recently  concluded,  by  the  intervention  of  Ma- 
jor General  Scott  between  the  Governors  of  Maine  and  New 
Brunswick,  the  ancient  friendships  which  had  grown  out  of 
relations  of  this  nature,  were  successfully  appealed  to ;  and 
every  part  of  the  difficult  negotiation  was  marked-  by  a  cour- 
tesy and  judgment  worthy  of  all  praise. 

4.  Among  associates  in  arras,  it  is  only  by  a  bland  and 
gentlemanly  deportment,  that  the  tone  of  command  can  be 
divested  of  harshness,  and  the  just  and  necessary  authority  of 
the  superior  be  preserved  without  grating  on  the  feelings  of 
the  subordinate.  It  is  not  less  important  among  equals ;  it 
prevents  collisions ;  secures  harmony  ;  and  gives  a  graceful 
and  imposing  air  to  the  intercourse  of  the  garrison  and  the 
jamp. 

5.  Toward  persons  in  civil  life,  and  especially  in  a  re- 
public, it  is,  for  obvious  reasons,  a  duty  of  great  importance. 
Ct  is  pleasing  to  know,  that  this  virtue  is  generally  practised 
m  the  army  of  the  United  States ;  and  particularly  by  those 
who  have  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  education  in  this  place 
(West  Point.)  Let  it  be  your  aim  my  youuii  friends,  in  ev- 
ery part  of  your  deportment,  to  exhibit^  in  all  sincerity,  this 
crowning  grace  of  the  accomplished  soldier. 

6.  Before  quitting  i\  s  division  of  my  subject,  permit  me 
to  remind  you,  that  th    .we  foundatkj  of  all  pure  morality, 

25* 


294  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

the  only  one  capable  of  sustaining,  in  well-balanced  propor- 
tions, that  difficult  combination  of  the  heroic  and  passive 
virtues,  which  forms  the  highest  order  of  the  military  char- 
acter, is  solely  to  be  found  in  the  enlightened  fear  of  God, 
and  the  diligent  keeping  of  his  commandments.  The  sol- 
diers of  heathen  antiquity,  whose  names  are  yet  held  in 
honorable  remembrance,  were  generally  distinguished,  ac- 
cording to  the  light  they  possessed,  by  their  religious  char- 
acter; among  the  Jews  piety  and  valor  were  commonly 
united ;  the  Christian  soldier  has  often  exhibited  these 
qualities ;  and  in  our  day  we  have  many  shining  proofs,  that 
there  is  no  incompatibility  between  them. 

7.  On  the  contrary,  if  there  be  any  class  of  men,  to 
whom,  more  than  to  all  others,  an  abiding  trust  in  the  govern- 
ment and  providence  of  God  iTould  seem  to  be  important, 
the  military  profession,  from  the  very  nature  of  their  duties, 
may,  perhaps,  be  said  to  be  that  class.  Exposed  to  peculiar 
temptations  and  perils,  who  can  need,  more  than  they,  the 
guidance  and  support  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  —  the  God  of 
wisdom,  grace,  and  consolation  1 


LESSON  CXLIII.     The  Wounded  Spirit. 

1.     Man  is  a  harp,  whose  chords  elude  the  sight, 
Each  yielding  harmony  disposed  aright  ; 
The  screws  reversed  (a  task  which,  if  he  please, 
God  in  a  moment  executes  with  ease) 
Ten  thousand  thousand  strings  at  once  go  loose, 
Lost,  till  he  tune  them,  all  their  power  and  use. 

2.     Then  neither  healthy  wilds,  nor  scenes  as  fair 
As  ever  recompensed  the  peasant's  care, 
Nor  soft  declivities  with  tufted  hills, 
Nor  view  of  waters  turning  busy  mills, 
Parks  in  which  art  preceptress  nature  weds. 
Nor  gardens  interspersed  with  flowery  beds, 
Nor  gales  that  catch  the  scent  of  blooming  groves. 
And  waft  it  to  the  mourner  as  he  roves. 
Can  call  up  life  into  his  faded  eye, 
That  passes  all  he  sees  unheeded  by ; 


DEATH    OF    LORD   BYRON.  <^ 

No  wounds  like  those  a  wounded  spirit  feels, 

No  cure  for  such,  till  God,  who  makes  them,  heals; 

And  thou  sad  sufferer  under  nameless  ill, 

That  yields  not  to  the  touch  of  human  skill, 

Improve  the  kind  occasion,  understand 

A  father's  frown,  and  kiss  his  chastening  hand. 

3.  To  thee  the  day-spring,  and  the  blaze  of  noon, 
The  purple  evening  and  resplendent  moon. 

The  stars  that,  sprinkled  o'er  the  vault  of  night. 
Seem  drops  descending  in  a  shower  of  light. 
Shine  not,  or  undesired  and  hated  shine, 
Seen  through  the  medium  of  a  cloud  like  thine  : 
Yet  seek  him,  in  his  favor  life  is  found, 
AH  bliss  beside  a  shadow  or  a  sound. 

4.  Then  heaven,  eclipsed  so  long,  and  this  dull  earth, 
Shall  seem  to  start  into  a  second  birth ; 

Nature,  assuming  a  more  lovely  face, 
Borrowing  a  beauty  from  the  works  of  grace. 
Shall  be  despised  and  overlooked  no  more ; 
Shall  fill  thee  with  delights  unfelt  before. 
Impart  to  things  inanimate  a  voice. 
And  bid  her  mountains  and  her  hills  rejoice ; 
The  sound  shall  run  along  the  winding  vales, 
And  thou  enjoy  an  Eden  ere  it  fails. 


LESSON  CXLIV.     Death  of  Lord  Byron. 

1.  Amidst  the  general  calmness  of  the  political  atmo- 
sphere, we  have  been  stunned,  from  another  quarter,  by  one 
of  those  death-notes  which  are  pealed  at  intervals,  as  from 
an  archangel's  trumpet,  to  awaken  the  soul  of  a  whole  peo- 
ple at  once.  Lord  Byron,  who  has  so  long  and  so  amply 
filled  the  highest  place  in  the  public  eye,  has  shared  the  lot 
of  humanity.  His  lordship  died  at  Missolonghi,  on  the 
19th  of  April. 

2.  That  mighty  genius,  which  walked  amongst  men  as 
something  superior  to  ordinary  mortality,  and  whose  powers 
were  beheld  with  wonder,  and  something  approaching  to  ter- 


296  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

ror,  as  if  we  knew  not  whether  they  were  of  good  or  of  evil,  is 
laid  as  soundly  to  rest  as  the  poor  peasant,  whose  ideas  never 
went  beyond  his  daily  task.  The  voice  of  just  blame  and 
of  malignant  censure  are  at  once  silenced  ;  and  we  feel 
almost  as  if  the  great  luminary  of  heaven  had  suddenly  dis- 
appeared from  the  sky,  at  the  moment  when  every  telescope 
was  levelled  for  the  examination  of  the  spots  which  dimmed 
its  brightness. 

3.  We  are  not  about  to  become  Byron's  apologists,  but 
we  may  note  the  part  he  has  sustained  in  British  literature 
since  the  first  appearance  of  *'  Childe  Harold,"  a  space  of 
nearly  sixteen  years.  There  has  been  no  reposing  under 
the  shade  of  his  laurels,  no  living  upon  the  resource  of  past 
reputation;  none  of  that  petty  precaution  which  little  authors 
call  "  taking  care  of  their  fame."  Byron  let  his  fame  take 
care  of  itself.  His  foot  was  always  in  the  arena,  his  shield 
hung  always  in  the  lists  ;  and  although  his  own  gigantic  re- 
nown increased  the  difficulty  of  the  struggle,  since  he  could 
produce  nothing,  however  great,  which  exceeded  the  public 
estimates  of  his  genius,  yet  he  advanced  to  the  contest  again 
and  again,  and  always  came  off  with  distinction,  almost  al- 
ways with  complete  triumph.  As  various  in  composition  as 
Shakspeare  himself,  he  has  embraced  every  topic  of  human 
life,  and  sounded  every  string  on  the  divine  harp,  from  its 
slightest  to  its  most  powerful  and  heart-astounding  tones. 
There  is  scarce  a  passion  or  a  situation  which  has  escaped 
his  pen;  and  he  might  be  drawn,  like  Garrick,  between  the 
weeping  and  the  laughing  muse,  although  his  most  powerful 
eflforts  have  certainly  been  dedicated  to  Melpomene. 

4.  His  genius  seemed  as  prolific  as  various.  The  most 
prodigal  use  did  not  exhaust  his  powers,  nay,  seemed  rather 
to  increase  their  vigor.  Neither  "  Childe  Harold,"  nor  any  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  Byron's  earlier  tales,  contains  more  ex- 
quisite raorselsof  poetry  than  are  to  be  found  scattered  amidst 
later  verses,  which  the  author  appears  to  have  thrown  off 
with  an  effort  as  spontaneous  as  that  of  a  tree  resigning  its 
leaves  to  the  wind.  But  that  noble  tree  will  never  more 
bear  fruit  or  blossom !  It  has  been  cut  down  in  its  strength, 
and  the  past  is  all  that  remains  to  us  of  Byron.  We  can 
scarce  reconcile  ourselves  to  the  idea,  —  scarce  think  that 
the  voice  is  silent  forever,  which,  bursting  so  of\en  on  our 


SIR   JOSHUA    REYNOLDS.  297 

ear,  was  often  heard  with  rapturous  admiration,  sometimes 
with  regret,  but  always  with  the  deepest  interest :  — 

"All  that 's  bright  must  fade, 
The  brightest  still  the  fleetest" 

5.  With  a  strong  feeling  of  awful  sorrow,  we  take  leave 
of  the  subject.  Death  creeps  upon  our  most  serious  as  well 
as  upon  our  most  idle  employments ;  and  it  is  a  reflection 
solemn  and  gratifying,  that  he  found  our  Byron  in  no  mo- 
ment of  levity,  but  contributing  his  fortune  and  hazarding 
his  life,  in  behalf  of  a  people  only  endeared  to  him  by  their 
past  glories,  and  as  fellow-creatures  suffering  under  the  yoke 
of  a  heathen  oppressor. 


I.ESSON   CXLV.     Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

1,  His  illness  had  been  long,  but  borne  with  a  mild 
and  cheerful  fortitude,  without  the  least  mixture  of  anything 
irritable  or  querulous,  agreeably  to  the  placid  and  even  tenor 
of  his  whole  life.  He  had  from  the  beginning  of  his  mala- 
dy a  distinct  view  of  his  dissolution,  which  he  contemplated 
with  that  entire  composure  which  nothing  but  the  innocence, 
integrity,  and  usefulness  of  his  life,  and  an  unaffected  sub- 
mission to  the  will  of  Providence,  could  bestow.  In  this 
situation  he  had  every  consolation  from  family  tenderness, 
which  his  tenderness  to  his  family  had  always  merited. 

2.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was,  on  very  many  accounts,  one 
of  the  most  memorable  men  of  his  time  :  —  he  was  the  first 
Englishman  who  added  the  praise  of  the  elegant  arts  to  the 
other  glories  of  his  country.  In  taste,  in  grace,  in  facility, 
in  happy  invention,  and  in  the  richness  and  harmony  of 
coloring,  he  was  equal  to  the  great  masters  of  the  renown- 
ed ages.  In  portrait  he  went  beyond  them ;  for  he  commu- 
nicated to  that  description  of  the  art,  in  which  English 
artists  are  the  most  engaged,  a  variety,  a  fancy,  and  a  digni- 
ty derived  from  the  higher  branches,  which  even  those  who 
profess  them  in  a  superior  manner  did  not  always  preserve 
when  they  delineated  individual  nature.  His  portraits  re- 
mind the  spectator  of  the  invention  of  history  and  the  amen- 
ity of  landscape.     In  painting  portraits,  he  appears  not  to 


298  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

be  raised  upon  that  platform,  but  to  descend  to  it  from  a 
higher  sphere.  His  paintings  illustrate  his  lessons,  and  his 
lessons  seem  to  have  been  derived  from  his  paintings. 

3,  He  possessed  the  theory  as  perfectly  as  the  practice  of 
his  art.  To  be  such  a  painter,  he  was  a  profound  and  pen- 
etrating philosopher.  In  full  happiness  of  foreign  and  do- 
mestic fame,  admired  by  the  expert  in  art,  and  by  the 
learned  in  science,  courted  by  the  great,  caressed  by  sov- 
ereign powers,  and  celebrated  by  distinguished  poets,  his 
native  humility,  modesty,  and  candor  never  forsook  him, 
even  on  surprise  or  provocation ;  nor  was  the  least  degree 
of  arrogance  or  assumption  visible  to  the  most  scrutinizing 
eye  in  any  part  of  his  conduct  or  discourse. 

4.  His  talents  of  every  kind,  —  powerful  from  nature,  and 
not  merely  cultivated  in  letters,  —  his  social  virtues  in  all 
the  relations  and  all  the  habitudes  of  life  rendered  him  the 
centre  of  a  very  great  and  unparalleled  variety  of  agreeable 
societies,  which  will  be  dissipated  by  his  death.  He  had 
too  much  merit  not  to  excite  some  jealousy ;  too  much  inno- 
cence to  provoke  any  enmity. 


LESSON  CXLVI.     Advantages  for  Christianizing  the 
Heathen. 

1.  Should  any  be  still  disposed  to  insist,  that  our  advan- 
tages for  evangelizing  the  world  are  not  to  be  compared 
with  those  of  the  Apostolic  age,  let  them  reverse  the  scene, 
and  roll  back  the  wheels  of  time,  and  obliterate  the  improve- 
ments of  science,  and  commerce,  and  arts,  which  now  facil- 
itate the  spread  of  the  Gospel.  Let  them  throw  into  dark- 
ness all  the  known  portions  of  the  earth,  which  were  then 
unknown.  Let  them  throw  into  distance  the  propinquity  of 
nations ;  and  exchange  their  rapid  intercourse  for  cheerless, 
insulated  existence. 

2.  Let  the  magnetic  power  be  forgotten,  and  the  timid 
navigator  creep  along  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean,  and 
tremble  and  cling  to  the  shore  when  he  looks  out  upon  the 
broad  waves  of  the  Atlantic.  Inspire  idolatry  with  the  vig- 
or of  meridian  manhood,  and  arm  in  its  defence,  and  against 


CHRISTIANIZING   THE  HEATHEN.         299 

Christianity  in  every  place  of  its  dispersion,  from  Jerusalem 
to  every  extremity  of  the  Roman  empire. 

3.  Blot  out  the  means  of  extending  knowledge  and  exerting 
influence  upon  the  human  mind.  Destroy  the  Lancasterian 
system  of  instruction,  and  throw  back  the  mass  of  men  into 
a  state  of  unreading,  unreflecting  ignorance.  Blot  out  our 
libraries  and  tracts  ;  abolish  Bible,  and  education,  and  tract, 
and  missionary  societies;  and  send  the  nations  for  knowl- 
edge to  parchment,  and  the  slow  and  limited  productions  of 
the  pen.  Let  all  the  improvements  in  civil  government  be 
obliterated,  and  the  world  be  driven  from  the  happy  arts  of 
self-government  to  the  guardianship  of  dungeons  and  chains. 

4.  Let  liberty  of  conscience  expire,  and  the  Church,  now 
emancipated,  and  walking  forth  in  her  unsullied  loveliness, 
return  to  the  guidance  of  secular  policy,  and  the  perversions 
and  corruptions  of  an  unholy  priesthood.  And  now  reduce 
the  200,000,000  nominal,  and  the  10,000,000  of  real  Chris- 
tians, spread  over  the  earth,  to  500  disciples,  and  to  twelve 
apostles,  assembled,  for  fear  of  the  Jews,  in  an  upper  cham- 
ber, to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  a  secret  prayer-meeting.  And 
give  them  the  power  of  miracles,  and  the  gift  of  tongues, 
and  send  them  out  into  all  the  earth  to  preach  the  Gospel  to 
every  creature. 

5.  Is  this  the  apostolic  advantage  for  propagating  Chris- 
tianity which  throws  into  discouragement  and  hopeless  imbe- 
cility all  our  present  means  of  enlightening  and  disenthrall- 
ing the  world  ?  They  comparatively,  had  nothing  to  begin 
with  and  every  thing  to  oppose  them  ;  and  yet,  in  three 
hundred  years,  the  whole  civilized,  and  much  of  the  barbar- 
ous world,  was  brought  under  the  dominion  of  Christianity. 

6.  And  shall  we,  with  the  advantage  of  their  labors,  and 
of  our  numbers,  and  a  thousand  fold  increase  of  opportuni- 
ty and  moral  power,  stand  halting  in  unbelief,  while  the 
Lord  Jesus  is  still  repeating  the  injunction,  **  Go  ye  out  into 
all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature,"  and 
repeating  the  assurance,  "  Lo  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  to 
the  end  of  the  world  ? "  Shame  on  our  sloth !  Shame  upon 
our  unbelief! 


300  THE    FOURTH    READER. 


LESSON  CXLVII.     Character  of  Washington. 

1.  THEREare  accidental  to  the  character  of  man  two  qual- 
ities, both  developed  by  his  intercourse  with  his  fellow-crea- 
tures, and  both  belonging  to  the  immortal  part  of  his  nature ; 
of  elements  apparently  so  opposed  and  inconsistent  with 
each  other,  as  to  be  irreconcilable  together  ;  but  yet  indis- 
pensable in  their  union  to  constitute  the  highest  excellence 
of  the  human  character.  They  are  the  spirit  of  command, 
and  the  spirit  of  meekness. 

2.  They  have  been  exemplified  in  the  purity  of  ideal  per- 
fection, only  once  in  the  history  of  mankind,  and  that  was 
in  the  mortal  life  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  It  would 
seem  to  have  been  exhibited  on  earth  by  his  supernatural 
character,  as  a  model  to  teach  mortal  man,  to  what  sublime 
elevation  his  nature  is  capable  of  ascending. 

3.  They  had  been  displayed,  though  not  in  the  same  per- 
fection by  the  preceding  legislator  of  the  Children  of  Is- 
rael :  — 

"  That  shepherd,  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed 
In  the  beginning,  how  the  heavens  and  earth 
Rose  out  of  chaos ;" 

but  so  little  were  they  known,  or  conceived  of  in  the  antiquity 
of  profane  history,  that  in  the  poems  of  Homer,  that  unri- 
valled delineator  of  human  character  in  the  heroic  ages, 
there  is  no  attempt  to  introduce  them  in  the  person  of  any 
one  of  his  performers,  human  or  divine. 

4.  In  the  poem  of  his  Roman  imitator  and  rival,  a  feeble 
exemplification  of  them  is  shadowed  forth  in  the  inconsistent 
composition  of  the  pious  ^neas ;  but  history,  ancient  or 
modern,  had  never  exhibited,  in  the  real  life  of  man,  an  ex- 
ample in  which  those  two  properties  were  so  happily  blend- 
ed together,  as  they  were  in  the  person  of  George  Wash- 
ington. These  properties  belong  rather  to  the  moral  than 
the  intellectual  nature  of  man. 

5.  They  are  not  unfrequently  found  in  minds  little  culti- 
vated by  science,  but  they  require  for  the  exercise  of  that 
mutual  control  which  guards  them  from  degenerating  into 
arrogance  or  weakness,  the  guidance  of  a  sound  judgment, 


EXTENSION    OF   CRISTIANITY.  301 

and  the  regulation  of  a  profound  sense  of  responsibility  to  a 
higher  power.  It  was  this  adaptation  of  the  character  of 
Washington  to  that  of  the  institution  over  the  composition 
of  which  he  had  presided,  as  he  was  now  called  to  presjde 
over  its  administration,  which  constituted  one  of  the  most 
favorable  omens  of  its  eventual  stability  and  success. 


LESSON  CXLVIII.  Extension  of  Christianity  hy  Missions. 

1.  Our  object  will  not  have  been  accomplished  till  the 
tomahawk  shall  be  buried  forever,  and  the  tree  of  peace 
spread  its  broad  branches  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific; 
until  a  thousand  smiling  villages  shall  be  reflected  from  the 
waves  of  the  Missouri,  and  the  distant  valleys  of  the  West 
echo  with  the  song  of  the  reaper ;  till  the  wilderness  and  the 
solitary  place  shall  have  been  glad  for  us,  and  the  desert  has 
rejoiced  and  blossomed  as  the  rose. 

2.  How  changed  will  then  be  the  face  of  Asia.  Bramins, 
and  Soodras,  and  Castes,  and  Shasters  will  have  passed 
away,  like  the  mist  which  rolls  up  the  mountain's  side  be- 
fore the  rising  glories  of  a  summer's  morning;  while  the  land 
on  which  it  rested,  shining  forth  in  all  its  loveliness,  shall, 
from  its  numberless  habitations,  send  forth  the  high  praises 
of  God  and  the  Lamb.  The  Hindoo  mother  will  gaze  upon 
her  infant  with  tlie  same  tenderness,  which  throbs  in  the 
breast  of  any  one  of  you  who  now  hear  me,  and  the  Hindoo 
son  will  pour  into  the  wounded  bosom  of  his  widowed  parent 
the  oil  of  peace  and  consolation. 

3.  In  a  word,  point  us  to  the  loveliest  village  that  smiles 
upon  a  Scottish  or  New  England  landscape,  and  compare 
it  with  the  filthiness  and  brutality  of  a  Caffrarian  Kraal,  and 
we  tell  you,  that  our  object  is  to  render  that  Caffrarian  Kraal 
as  happy  and  as  gladsome  as  that  Scottish  or  New  England 
village. 

4.  Point  us  to  the  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  where 
liberty  is  best  understood  and  most  perfectly  enjoyed,  where 
intellect  shoots  forth  in  its  richest  luxuriance,  and  where  all 
the  kindlier  feelings  of  the  heart  are  constantly  seen  in  their 
most  graceful  exercise  ;  point  us  to  the  loveliest  and  happiest 
neighborhood  in  the  world   on  which  we  dwell,  and  we  tell 

26 


302  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

you,  that  our  object  is  to  render  the  whole  earth,  with  all  its 
nations,  and  kindreds,  and  tongues,  and  people,  as  happy, 
nay,  happier,  than  that  neighborhood. 

5.  The  object  of  the  Missionary  enterprise  embraces 
every  child  of  Adam.  It  is  vast  as  the  race  to  whom  its  op- 
erations are  of  necessity  limited.  It  would  confer  upon  ev- 
ery individual  on  earth  all  that  intellectual  or  moral  cultiva- 
tion can  bestow.  It  would  rescue  a  world  from  the  indigna- 
tion and  wrath,  tribulation  and  anguish,  reserved  for  every 
son  of  man  that  doeth  evil,  and  give  it  a  title  to  glory,  honor, 
and  immortality. 

6.  You  see,  then,  that  our  object  is,  not  only  to  affect  ev- 
ery individual  of  the  species,  but  to  affect  him  in  the  mo- 
mentous extremes  of  infinite  happiness  and  infinite  woe. 
And  now,  we  ask,  what  object,  ever  undertaken  by  man, 
can  compare  with  this  same  design  of  evangelizing  the  world. 
Patriotism  itself  fades  away  before  it,  and  acknowledges  the 
supremacy  of  an  enterprise,  which  seizes,  with  so  strong  a 
grasp,  upon  both  the  temporal  and  eternal  destinies  of  the 
whole  family  of  man. 


LESSON  CXLIX.     A  Traveller  perishing  in  the  Snow. 

1.  As  thus  the  snows  arise;  and  foul,  and  fierce. 
All  winter  drives  along  the  darkened  air  ; 

In  his  own  loose-revolving  fields,  the  swain 

Disastered  stands;  sees  other  hills  ascend. 

Of  unknown,  joyless  brow ;  and  other  scenes, 

Of  horrid  prospect,  shag  the  trackless  plain  : 

Nor  finds  the  river,  nor  the  forest,  hid 

Beneath  the  formless  wild  ;  but  wanders  on 

From  hill  to  dale,  still  more  and  more  astray ; 

Impatient  flouncing  through  the  drifted  heaps, 

Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home ;  the  thoughts  of  home 

Rush  on  his  nerves,  and  call  their  vigor  forth 

In  many  a  vain  attempt. 

2.  How  sinks  his  soul  I 
What  black  despair,  what  horror  fills  his  heart  1 
When  for  the  dusky  spot,  which  fancy  feigned 
His  tufted  cottage  rising  through  the  snow, 


DECAY   OF   THE   INDIANS.  303 

He  meets  the  roughness  of  the  middle  waste, 
Far  from  the  track  and  blessed  abode  of  man ; 
While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast, 
And  every  tempest,  howling  o'er  his  head, 
Renders  the  savage  wilderness  more  wild. 

3.  Then  throng  the  busy  shapes  into  his  mind, 
Of  covered  pits,  unfathomably  deep, 

A  dire  descent !  beyond  the  power  of  frost; 

Of  faithless  bogs  ;  of  precipices  huge, 

Smoothed  up  with  snow  ;  and,  what  is  land,  unknown, 

What  water  of  the  still  unfrozen  spring. 

In  the  loose  marsh  or  solitary  lake. 

Where  the  fresh  fountain  from  the  bottom  boils. 

These  check  his  fearful  steps  ;  and  down  he  sinks 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  the  shapeless  drift. 

Thinking  o'er  all  the  bitterness  of  death. 

Mixed  with  the  tender  anguish  Nature  shoots 

Through  the  wrung  bosom  of  the  dying  man, 

His  wife,  his  children,  and  his  friends  unseen. 

4,  In  vain  for  him  the  officious  wife  prepares 
The  fire  fair-blazing,  and  the  vestment  warm  ; 
In  vain  his  little  children,  peeping  out 

Into  the  mingling  storm,  demand  their  sire. 
With  tears  of  artless  innocence.     Alas ! 
Nor  wife,  nor  children,  more  shall  he  behold, 
Nor  friends,  nor  sacred  home.     On  every  nerve 
The  deadly  Winter  seizes  ;  shuts  up  sense  ; 
And,  o'er  his  inmost  vitals  creeping  cold. 
Lays  him  along  the  snows,  a  stiffened  corse, 
Stretched  out,  and  bleaching  in  the  northern  blast. 


LESSON  CL.     Decay  of  the  Indians. 

1.  Neither  the  government  nor  the  people  of  the  United 
States  have  any  wish  to  conceal  from  themselves,  nor  from 
the  world,  that  there  is  upon  their  frontiers  a  wretched,  for- 
lorn people,  looking  to  them  for  support  and  protection,  and 
possessing  strong  claims  upon  their  justice  and  humanity. 
Those  people  received  our  forefathers  in  a  spirit  of  friend- 
ship, aided  them  to  endure  privations  and  sufferings,  and 


30i  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

taught  them  how  to  provide  for  many  of  the  wants  with 
which  they  were  surrounded. 

2.  The  Indians  were  then  strong,  and  we  were  weak; 
and,  without  looking  at  the  change  which  has  occurred  in 
any  spirit  of  morbid  aflfectation,  but  with  the  feelings  of  an 
age  accustomed  to  observe  great  mutations  in  the  fortunes 
of  nations  and  of  individuals,  we  may  express  our  regret 
that  they  have  lost  so  much  of  what  we  have  gained.  The 
prominent  points  of  their  history  are  before  the  world,  and 
will  go  down  unchanged  to  posterity. 

3.  In  the  revolution  of  a  few  ages,  this  fair  portion  of  the 
continent,  which  was  theirs,  has  passed  into  our  possession. 
The  forests,  which  afforded  them  food  and  security,  where 
were  their  cradles,  their  homes,  and  their  graves,  have  dis- 
appeared, or  are  disappearing,  before  the  progress  of  civili- 
zation. 

4.  We  have  extinguished  their  council-fires,  and  ploughed 
up  the  bones  of  their  fathers.  Their  population  has  dimin- 
ished with  lamentable  rapidity.  Those  tribes  that  remain, 
like  the  lone  column  of  a  falling  temple,  exhibit  but  the  sad 
relics  of  their  former  strength ;  and  many  others  live  only 
in  the  names  which  have  reached  us  through  the  earlier  ac- 
counts of  travellers  and  historians. 

5.  The  causes,  which  have  produced  this  physical  desola- 
tion, are  yet  in  constant  and  active  operation,  and  threaten 
to  leave  us,  at  no  distant  day,  without  a  living  proof  of  In- 
dian sufferings,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  immense  desert 
which  sweeps  along  the  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Nor 
can  we  console  ourselves  with  the  reflection,  that  their 
physical  condition  has  been  counterbalanced  by  any  melio- 
ration in  their  moral  condition.  We  have  taught  them 
neither  how  to  live,  nor  how  to  die. 

6.  They  have  been  equally  stationary  in  their  manners, 
habits,  and  opinions,  —  in  everything  but  their  numbers  and 
their  happiness ;  and,  although  existing,  for  more  than  six 
generations,  in  contact  with  a  civilized  people,  they  owe  to 
them  no  one  valuable  improvement  in  the  arts,  nor  a  single 
principle  which  can  restrain  their  passions,  or  give  hope  to 
despondence,  motive  to  exertion,  or  confidence  to  virtue. 


DECLARATION    OF    INDEPENDENCE.       305 


LESSON   CLI.      The  Declaration  of  Independence. 

1.  When  in  the  epic  fable  of  the  first  of  Roman  poets, 
the  goddess  mother  of  ^neas  delivers  to  him  the  celestial 
armor,  with  which  he  is  to  triumph  over  his  enemy,  and  to 
lay  the  foundations  of  imperial  Rome,  he  is  represented  as 
gazing  with  intense  but  confused  delight  on  the  crested  hel- 
met, that  vomits  golden  fires. 

2.  "  His  hands  the  fatal  sword  and  corselet  hold, 

One  keen  with  tempered  steel,  —  one  stiff  with  gold. 
He  shakes  the  pointed  spear,  and  longs  to  try 
The  plated  cuishes  on  his  manly  thigh ; 
But  most  admires  the  shield's  mysterious  mould, 
And  Roman  triumphs  rising  on  the  gold." 

For  on  that  shield  the  heavenly  smith  had  wrought  the  an- 
ticipated history  of  Roman  glory,  from  the  days  of  ^neas 
down  to  the  reign  of  Augustus  Caesar,  contemporaneous  with 
the  poet  himself 

3.  Would  it  be  an  unlicensed  trespass  of  the  imagination 
to  conceive,  that  on  the  night  preceding  that  thirtieth  of 
April,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-nine,  when 
from  the  balcony  of  your  city  hall,  the  chancellor  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  administered  to  George  Washington  the 
solemn  oath,  faithfully  to  execute  the  office  of  President  of 
the  United  States,  and  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to  preserve, 
protect,  and  defend  the  constitution  of  the  United  States,  — 
that,  in  the  visions  of  the  night,  the  guardian  angel  of  the 
father  of  our  country  had  appeared  before  him,  in  the  ven- 
erated form  of  his  mother,  and,  to  cheer  and  encourage  him 
in  the  performance  of  the  momentous  and  solemn  duties  that 
he  was  about  to  assume,  had  delivered  to  him  a  suit  of  ce- 
lestial armor,  —  a  helmet,  consisting  of  the  principles  of 
piety,  of  justice,  of  honor,  of  benevolence,  with  which, 
from  his  earliest  infancy,  he  had  hitherto  walked  through 
life,  in  the  presence  of  all  his  brethren,  —  a  spear,  stud- 
ded with  the  self-evident  truths  of  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence,—  a  sword,  the  same  with  which  he  had  led 
the  armies  of  his  country  through  the  war  of  freedom,  to 
the  summit  of  the  triumphal  arch  of  independence,  —  a 
corselet  and  cuishes  of  long  experience  and  habitual  inter- 


306  THE   FOURTH    READER. 

course  in  peace  and  war  with  the  world  of  mankind,  his 
contemporaries  of  the  human  race,  in  all  their  stages  of 
civilization,  —  and,  last  of  all,  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  a  Shield  embossed  by  heavenly  hands,  with  the  fu- 
ture history  of  his  country. 

4.  Yes,  gentlemen,  on  that  shield,  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  was  sculptured  (by  forms  unseen,  and  in 
characters  then  invisible  to  mortal  eye,)  the  predestined  and 
prophetic  history  of  the  one  confederated  people  of  the  North 
American  Union. 

5.  They  had  been  the  settlers  of  thirteen  separate  and 
distinct  English  colonies,  along  the  margin  of  the  shore  of 
the  North  American  continent ;  contiguously  situated,  but 
chartered  by  adventurers  of  characters  variously  diversified, 
including  sectarians,  religious  and  political,  of  all  the  classes 
which  for  the  two  preceding  centuries  had  agitated  and  di- 
vided the  people  of  the  British  Islands,  —  and  with  them 
were  intermingled  the  descendants  of  Hollanders,  Swedes, 
Germans,  and  French  fugitives,  from  the  persecution  of  the 
revoker  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes. 

6.  In  the  bosom  of  this  people,  thus  heterogeneously 
composed,  there  was  burning,  kindled  at  different  furnaces, 
but  all  furnaces  of  affliction,  one  clear,  steady  flame  of 
Liberty.  Bold  and  daring  enterprise,  stubborn  endurance 
of  privation,  unflinching  intrepidity  in  facing  danger,  and 
inflexible  adherence  to  conscientious  principle,  had  steeled 
the  energetic  and  unyielding  hardihood  of  the  characters  of 
the  primitive  settlers  of  all  these  colonies.  In  a  recent 
strife  between  two  great  European  powers,  the  victorious 
combatant  had  been  Britain. 

7.  She  had  conquered  the  provinces  of  France.  She  had 
expelled  her  rival  totally  from  the  continent  over  which, 
bounding  herself  by  the  Mississippi,  she  was  thenceforth  to 
hold  divided  empire  only  with  Spain.  She  had  acquired 
undisputed  control  over  the  Indian  tribes,  still  tenanting  the 
forests  unexplored  by  the  European  man.  She  had  estab- 
lished an  uncontested  monopoly  of  the  commerce  of  all  her 
colonies.  But,  forgetting  all  the  warnings  of  preceding 
ages,  —  forgetting  the  lessons  written  in  the  blood  of  her 
own  children,  through  centuries  of  departed  time,  —  she  un- 
dertook to  tax  the  people  of  the  colonies  icithout  their  con* 
sent. 


DECLARATION    OF    INDEPENDENCE.       307 

8.  Resistance,  instantaneous,  unconcerted,  sympathetic, 
inflexible  resistance,  like  an  electric  shock,  startled  and 
roused  the  people  of  all  the  English  colonies  on  this  conti- 
nent. This  was  the  first  signal  of  the  North  American 
Union.  The  struggle  was  for  chartered  rights,  for  English 
liberties,  for  the  cause  of  Algernon  Sydney  and  John 
Hampden,  for  trial  by  jury,  the  Habeas  Corpus,  and  Magna 
Charta. 

9.  But,  the  English  lawyers  had  decided,  that  Parliament 
was  omnipotent,  —  and  Parliament  in  their  omnipotence,  in- 
stead of  trial  by  jury  and  the  Habeas  Corpus,  erected  admi- 
ralty courts  in  England  to  try  Americans  for  offences  charged 
against  them  as  committed  in  America,  —  instead  of  the 
privileges  of  Magna  Charta,  nullified  the  charter  itself  of 
Massachusetts  Bay  ;  shut  up  the  port  of  Boston  ;  sent  armies 
and  navies  to  keep  the  peace,  and  teach  the  colonies,  that 
John  Hampden  was  a  rebel,  and  Algernon  Sydney  a  traitor. 

10.  English  liberties  had  failed  them.  From  the  omnipo- 
tence of  Parliament  the  colonists  appealed  to  the  rights  of 
men,  and  the  omnipotence  of  the  God  of  battles.  Union  ! 
Union  !  was  the  instinctive  and  simultaneous  cry  throughout 
the  land.  Their  Congress,  assembled  at  Philadelphia,  once, 
twice,  had  petitioned  the  king  ;  had  remonstrated  to  Parlia- 
ment ;  had  addressed  the  people  of  Britain,  for  the  rights  of 
Englishmen,  in  vain.  Fleets  and  armies,  the  blood  of  Lex- 
ington, and  the  fires  of  Charlestown  and  Falmouth,  had 
been  the  answer  to  petition,  remonstrance,  and  address. 

11.  Independence  was  declared.  The  colonies  were 
transformed  into  States-  Their  inhabitants  were  proclaimed 
to  be  one  people,  renouncing  all  allegiance  to  the  British 
crown ;  all  copatriotism  with  the  British  nation ;  all  claims 
to  chartered  rights  as  Englishmen.  Thenceforth  their  char- 
ter was  the  Declaration  of  Independence ;  their  rights, 
the  natural  rights  of  mankind ;  their  government,  such  as 
should  be  instituted  by  themselves,  under  the  solemn,  mutu- 
al pledges  of  perpetual  union,  founded  on  the  self-evident 
truths  proclaimed  in  the  Declaration. 


308  THE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON    CLII.     History  of  America. 

1.  Happy  was  it  for  America,  happy  for  the  world,  that  a 
great  name,  a  guardian  genius,  presided  over  her  destinies 
in  war,  combining  more  than  the  virtues  of  the  Roman 
Fabius  and  the  Theban  Epaminondas,  and,  compared  with 
whom,  the  conquerors  of  the  world,  the  Alexanders  and 
Cassars,  are  but  pageants  crimsoned  with  blood,  and  decked 
with  the  trophies  of  slaughter,  objects  equally  of  the  wonder 
and  the  execration  of  mankind. 

2.  The  hero  of  America  was  the  conqueror  only  of  his 
country's  foes,  and  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen.  To  the 
one  he  was  a  terror,  and  in  the  other  he  gained  ascenden- 
cy, supreme,  unrivalled,  the  tribute  of  admiring  gratitude, 
the  reward  of  a  nation's  love. 

3.  The  deep  interest,  excited  by  the  events  of  war,  does 
not  derive  its  intenseness  from  the  numbers  engaged.  The 
army  of  Xerxes  astounds  us  with  its  embodied  millions;  but 
it  is  only  with  Leonidas,  and  his  three  hundred  Spartans, 
that  the  heart  mingles  its  sympathies,  and  is  agitated  with 
thrilling  hopes  and  fears.  Kings  pursue  the  game  of  war, 
as  men  play  at  chess.  They  marshal  their  hosts,  battles  are 
fought,  and  there  are  conquest  and  defeat.  We  may  follow 
their  fortunes  with  a  languid  curiosity,  but  with  no  intense 
feeling.  The  reason  is  obvious.  We  can  be  wrought  upon 
only  by  vivid  impressions,  and  what  in  some  way  touches 
the  springs  of  the  human  affections. 

4.  The  American  armies,  compared  with  the  embattled 
legions  of  the  old  world,  were  small  in  numbers,  but  the 
soul  of  a  whole  people  centred  in  the  bosom  of  these  more 
than  Spartan  bands,  and  vibrated  quickly  and  keenly  with 
every  incident  that  befell  them,  whether  in  their  feats  of 
valor,  or  the  acuteness  of  their  sufferings.  The  country  it- 
self was  one  wide  battle-field,  in  which,  not  merely  the  life- 
blood,  but  the  dearest  interests,  the  sustaining  hopes,  of 
every  individual  were  at  stake. 

5.  It  was  not  a  war  of  pride  and  ambition  between  mon- 
archs,  in  which  an  island  or  a  province  might  be  the  award 
of  success ;  it  was  a  contest  for  personal  liberty  and  civil 
rights,  coming  down  in  its  principles  to  the  very  sanctuary 
of  home  and  the  fireside,  and  determining  for  every  man 


HISTORY    OF    AMERICA.  ^QQt 

the  measure  of  responsibility  he  should  hold  over  his  own 
condition,  possessions,  and  happiness.  The  spectacle  was 
grand  and  new,  and  may  well  be  cited  as  the  most  glowing 
page  in  the  annals  of  progressive  man. 

6.  The  instructive  lesson  of  history,  teaching  by  example, 
can  nowhere  be  studied  with  more  profit  or  with  better 
promise,  than  in  this  revolutionary  period  of  America ;  and 
especially  by  us,  who  sit  under  the  tree  our  fathers  have 
planted,  enjoy  its  shade,  and  are  nourished  by  its  fruits. 
But  little  is  our  merit  or  gain,  that  we  applaud  their  deeds, 
unless  we  emulate  their  virtues. 

7.  Love  of  country  was  in  them  an  absorbing  principle, 
an  undivided  feeling ;  not  of  a  fragment,  a  section,  but  of 
the  whole  country.  Union  was  the  arch  on  which  they 
raised  the  strong  tower  of  a  nation's  independence.  Let 
the  arm  be  palsied,  that  would  loosen  one  stone  in  the  basis 
of  this  fair  structure,  or  mar  its  beauty ;  the  tongue  mute, 
that  would  dishonor  their  names,  by  calculating  the  value  of 
that  which  they  deemed  without  price. 

8.  They  have  left  us  an  example  already  inscribed  in  the 
world's  memory  ;  an  example,  portentous  to  the  aims  of 
tyranny  in  every  land ;  an  example,  that  will  console,  in  all 
ages,  the  drooping  aspirations  of  oppressed  humanity.  They 
have  left  us  a  written  charter  as  a  legacy,  and  as  a  guide 
to  our  course.  But  every  day  convinces  us,  that  a  written 
charter  may  become  powerless.  Ignorance  may  misinter- 
pret it ;  ambition  may  assail,  and  faction  destroy  its  vital 
parts  ;  and  aspiring  knavery  may  at  last  sing  its  requiem  on 
the  tomb  of  departed  liberty. 

9.  It  is  the  spirit  which  lives ;  in  this  are  our  safety  and  our 
hope;  the  spirit  of  our  fathers;  and  while  this  dwells  deeply 
in  our  remembrance,  and  its  flame  is  cherished,  ever  burn- 
ing, ever  pure,  on  the  altar  of  our  hearts ;  while  it  incites  us 
to  think  as  they  have  thought,  and  do  as  they  have  done, 
the  honor  and  the  praise  will  be  ours,  to  have  preserved, 
unimpaired,  the  rich  inheritance,  which  they  so  nobly 
achieved. 


310  THE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  CLIII.     3Toral  and  Intellectual  Efficacy  of  the 
Sacred  Scriptures. 

1.  As  to  the  powerful,  I  had  almost  said  miraculous, 
effect  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  there  can  no  longer  be  a 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  on  whom  fact  can  make  an 
impression.  That  the  truths  of  the  Bible  have  the  power 
of  awakening  an  intense  moral  feeling  in  man  under  every 
variety  of  character,  learned  or  ignorant,  civilized  or  sav- 
age ;  that  they  teach  men  to  love  right,  to  hate  wrong,  and 
to  seek  each  other's  welfare,  as  the  children  of  one  common 
parent ;  that  they  control  the  baleful  passions  of  the  human 
heart,  and  thus  make  men  proficients  in  the  science  of  self- 
government;  and,  finally,  that  they  teach  him  to  aspire  after 
a  conformity  to  a  Being  of  infinite  holiness,  and  fill  him 
with  hopes  infinitely  more  purifying,  more  exalting,  more 
suited  to  his  nature,  than  any  other  which  this  world  has 
ever  known,  —  are  facts  as  incontrovertible  as  the  laws  of 
philosophy,  or  the  demonstrations  of  mathematics. 

2.  That  the  distinctive  and  peculiar  effect  is  produced 
upon  every  man  to  whom  the  Gospel  is  announced,  we  pre- 
tend not  to  affirm.  But  we  do  affirm,  that,  besides  produc- 
ing this  special  renovation,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  upon 
a  part,  it,  i-n  a  most  remarkable  degree,  elevates  the  tone 
of  moral  feeling  throughout  the  whole  community.  Wher- 
ever the  Bible  is  freely  circulated,  and  its  doctrines  carried 
home  to  the  understandings  of  men,  the  aspect  of  society 
is  altered  ;  the  frequency  of  crime  is  diminished  ;  men  begin 
to  love  justice,  and  to  administer  it  by  law  ;  and  a  virtu- 
ous public  opinion,  that  strongest  safeguard  of  right,  spreads 
over  a  nation  the  shield  of  its  invisible  protection.  When- 
ever it  has  faithfully  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  human 
heart,  even  under  the  most  unpromising  circumstances,  it 
has,  within  a  single  generation,  revolutionized  the  whole 
structure  of  society,  and  thus,  within  a  few  years,  done 
more  for  man  than  all  other  means  have  for  ages  accom- 
plished without  it. 

3.  But  before  we  leave  this  part  of  the  subject,  it  may  be 
well  to  pause  for  a  moment,  and  inquire  whether,  in  ad- 
dition to  its  moral  efficacy,  the  Bible  may  not  exert  a  power- 
ful influence  upon  the  intellectual  character  of  man. 


THE    SACRED   SCRIPTURES.  311 

4.  And  here  it  is  scarcely  necessary  that  I  should  remark, 
that,  of  all  the  books  with  which,  since  the  invention  of 
writing,  this  world  has  been  deluged,  the  number  of  those 
is  very  small  which  have  produced  any  perceptible  effect  on 
the  mass  of  human  character.  After  the  ceaseless  toil  of 
six  thousand  years,  how  few  have  been  the  works,  the  ada- 
mantine basis  of  whose  reputation  has  stood  unhurt  amid 
the  fluctuations  of  time,  and  whose  impression  can  be  traced, 
through  successive  centuries,  on  the  history  of  our  species. 

5.  When,  however,  such  a  work  appears,  its  effects  are 
absolutely  incalculable  ;  and  such  a  work,  you  are  aware, 
is  the  Iliad  of  Homer.  Who  can  estimate  the  results  pro- 
duced by  the  incomparable  efforts  of  a  single  mind  ;  who 
can  tell  what  Greece  owes  to  the  first-born  of  song  1  Her 
breathing  marbles,  her  solemn  temples,  her  unrivalled  elo- 
quence, and  her  matchless  verse,  all  point  us  to  that  tran- 
scendent genius,  who,  by  the  very  splendor  of  his  own  efful- 
gence, woke  the  human  intellect  from  the  slumber  of  ages. 
It  was  Homer  who  gave  laws  to  the  artist ;  it  was  Homer 
who  inspired  the  poet ;  it  was  Homer  who  thundered  in  the 
senate ;  and,  more  than  all,  it  was  Homer  who  was  sung 
by  the  people ;  and  hence  a  nation  was  cast  in  the  mould 
of  one  mighty  mind,  and  the  land  of  the  Iliad  became  the 
region  of  taste,  the  birth-place  of  the  arts. 

6.  Nor  was  this  influence  confined  within  the  limits  of 
Greece.  Long  after  the  sceptre  of  empire  had  pased  west- 
ward, genius  still  held  her  court  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilyssus, 
and  from  the  country  of  Homer  gave  laws  to  the  world. 
The  light,  which  the  blind  old  man  of  Scio  had  kindled 
in  Greece,  shed  its  radiance  over  Italy,  and  thus  did  he 
awaken  a  second  nation  into  intellectual  existence.  And 
we  may  form  some  idea  of  the  power  which  this  one  work 
has  to  the  present  day  exerted  over  the  mind  of  man,  by 
remarking,  that  "  nation  after  nation,  and  century  after  cen- 
tury, has  been  able  to  do  little  more  than  transpose  his 
incidents,  new  name  his  characters,  and  paraphrase  his 
sentiments." 

7.  But,  considered  simply  as  an  intellectual  production, 
who  will  compare  the  poems  of  Homer  with  the  Holy  Scrip 
tures  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament  ?  Where  in  the  Iliad 
shall  we  find  simplicity  and  pathos  which  shall  vie  with  the 
narrative  of  Moses,  or  maxims  of  conduct  to  equal  in  wis- 


312'  THE   FOURTH   READER. 

dom  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon,  or  sublimity  which  does  not 
fade  away  before  the  conceptions  of  Job  or  David,  of  Isaiah 
or  St.  John  ?  But  I  cannot  pursue  this  comparison.  I 
feel,  that  it  is  doing  wrong  to  the  mind  which  dictated  the 
niad,  and  to  those  other  mighty  intellects  on  whom  the  light 
of  the  holy  oracles  never  shined.  Who  that  has  read  his 
poem  has  not  obser\ed  how  he  strove  in  vain  to  give  dignity 
to  the  mythology  of  his  time  ?  Who  has  not  seen  how  the 
religion  of  his  country,  unable  to  support  the  flight  of  his 
imagination,  sunk  powerless  beneath  him  ? 

8.  It  is  in  the  unseen  world,  where  the  master-spirits  of 
our  race  breathe  freely,  and  are  at  home ;  and  it  is  mournful 
to  behold  the  intellect  of  Homer  striving  to  free  itself  from 
the  conceptions  of  materialism,  and  then  sinking  down  in 
hopeless  despair,  to  weave  idle  tales  about  Jupiter  and  Juno, 
Apollo  and  Diana.  But  the  difficulties  under  which  he  la- 
bored are  abundantly  illustrated  by  the  fact,  that  the  light, 
which  he  poured  upon  the  human  intellect,  taught  other  ages 
how  unworthy  was  the  religion  of  his  day,  of  the  man  who 
was  compelled  to  use  it.  "  It  seems  to  me,"  says  Longinus, 
"  that  Homer,  when  he  ascribes  dissensions,  jealousies, 
tears,  imprisonments,  and  other  afflictions  to  his  deities, 
hath  as  much  as  was  in  his  power,  made  the  men  of  the  Iliad 
gods  and  the  gods  men.  To  man,  when  afflicted,  death  is 
the  termination  of  evils;  but  he  hath  made  not  only  the 
nature,  but  the  miseries,  of  the  gods  eternal.'* 

9.  If,  then,  so  great  results  have  flowed  from  this  one 
eflbrt  of  a  single  mind,  what  may  we  not  expect  from  the 
combined  eflibrts  of  several,  at  least  his  equals  in  power  over 
the  human  heart  ?  If  that  one  genius,  though  groping  in 
the  thick  darkness  of  absurd  idolatry,  wrought  so  glorious 
a  transformation  in  the  character  of  his  countrymen,  what 
may  we  not  look  for  from  the  universal  dissemination  of 
those  writings,  on  whose  authors  was  poured  the  full  splen- 
dor of  eternal  truth?  If  unassisted  human  nature,  spell- 
bound by  a  childish  mythology,  have  done  so  much,  what 
may  we  not  hope  for  from  the  supernatural  eflbrts  of  pre- 
eminent genius,  which  spake  as  it  was  moved  by  the  Holy 
Ghost  ? 


EPIGRAMS.  313 


LESSON  CLIV.     Epigrams. 

1.  What  is  an  Epigram  1  —  a  dwarfish  whole  ; 
Its  body  Brevity,  and  Wit  its  soul. 

To  a  noted  Liar. 

2.  Lie  on  ;  while  my  revenge  shall  be 
To  tell  the  very  truth  of  thee. 

By  Dean  Swift, 

3.  You  beat  your  pate,  and  fancy  Wit  will  come 
Knock  as  you  will,  there  's  nobody  at  home. 

On  the  Statue  of  Niohe. 

4.  To  stone  the  gods  have  changed  her,  but  in  vain ; 
The  sculptor's  art  has  made  her  breathe  again. 

On  a  Bad  Translation. 

5.  His  work  now  done,  he  '11  publish  it,  no  doubt ; 
For  sure  I  am,  that  murder  will  come  out. 

From  Martial. 

6.  The  verses,  friend,  which  thou  hast  read,  are  mine; 
But,  as  thou  read'st  them,  they  may  pass  for  thine. 

On  a  Bad  Singer. 

7.  Swans  sing  before  they  die :  't  were  no  bad  thing 
Should  certain  persons  die  before  they  sing. 

Epitaph  on  a  Scolding  Wife. 

8.  Here  lies  my  wife  :  poor  Nelly,  let  her  lie,  — 
She  finds  repose  at  last,  and  so  do  I. 

9.  Jack,  eating  rotten  cheese,  did  say,  — 
*'  Like  Samson  I  my  thousands  slay ! " 

**  Yes,"  cried  a  wag,  "  indeed  you  do,  — 
And  with  the  self-same  weapon  too." 

10.  A  haughty  courtier,  meeting  in  the  streets 
A  scholar,  him  thus  insolently  greets : 

27 


dl4  THE  FOURTH  READER. 

"  Base  men  to  take  the  wall  I  ne'er  permit  I " 
*  The  scholar  said  "  I  do,"  and  gave  him  it. 

By  Harrington. 

11.  The  golden  hair  that  Galla  wears 

Is  hers  ;  who  would  have  thought  it  ? 
She  swears  't  is  hers ;  and  true  she  swears. 
For  I  know  where  she  bought  it ! 

By  Prior. 

12.  Sir,  I  admit  your  general  rule. 
That  every  poet  is  a  fool : 

But  you  yourself  will  serve  to  show  it. 
That  every  fool  is  not  a  poet. 

13.  "  Oh,  let  me  die  in  peace  !  "  Eumenes  cried 
To  a  hard  creditor  at  his  bed-side. 
"  How  1  die  ? "  roared  Gripus ;  "  thus  your  debts  evade  ? 
No,  no,  Sir ;  you  sha'nt  die  till  I  am  paid ! " 

Written  soon  after  Dr.  HilTs  Farce,  called  '*  The  Rout** 
was  acted. 

14.  For  physic  and  farces 

His  equal  there  scarce  is; 
His  farces  are  physic. 
His  physic  a  farce  is. 

Provoked  hy  the  words  "  One  Prior,"   in  Burnet's  History. 

15.  "  One  Prior!  "     And  is  this,  this  all  the  fame 
The  Poet  from  the  Historian  can  claim  ? 

No :  Prior's  verse  posterity  will  quote 
When  't  is  forgot  one  Burnet  ever  wrote. 

The  Musical  Contest.  —  Swift. 

16.  Some  say,  that  Signor  Bononcini, 
Compared  with  Handel,  's  a  mere  ninny ; 
And  others  say,  that  to  him  Handel 

Is  hardly  fit  to  hold  a  candle  : 

Strange,  that  such  difference  there  should  be 

'Twixt  Tweedle-dum  and  Tweedle-dee  ! 


SPRING.  316 


LESSON  CLV.     Spring. 

1.  The  name  of  the  season  in  which  the  sun  returns  to  us 
from  his  cold  recess,  rising  higher  and  higher  above  our  heads, 
and  bringing  warmth  and  verdure  with  him  for  his  welcome, 
is  most  expressively  denominated  by  the  pure  English  word 
Spring.  For  it  is  now  that  everything  in  nature;vio  which 
life  or  motion  belongs,  the  herbs  and  plants  and  trees,  the 
fountains,  the  beasts  and  birds,  the  reptile  and  the  insect 
tribes,  are  springing  up  from  the  bonds  of  frost,  and  still- 
ness, and  sleep,  and  death. 

2.  It  is  now  that  a  fresh  impulse  seems  to  be  communi- 
cated to  the  whole  creation,  and  a  spirit  of  youth  to  be  in- 
fused throughout  all  the  works  of  God.  Spring  is  come ; 
the  springing  of  the  earth ;  the  spring-time  of  the  year. 
And  so  great  and  manifest  is  the  joy  which  we  feel  at  this 
general  renovation,  and  so  vivid  the  delight  which  appears 
to  possess  even  senseless  and  material  creatures  in  this  the 
springing  and  bounding  season  of  their  existence,  that  the 
blessing  of  the  Creator  may  be  said  to  rest  upon  it  peculiar- 
ly ;  and  we  are  reminded  of  the  time  when  that  blessing 
first  came  down  upon  the  springing  things  of  our  young 
world,  pronouncing  them  very  good. 

3.  It  is  only  in  the  temperate  zones  that  the  word  Spring, 
as  denoting  a  season  of  the  year,  can  have  any  significan- 
cy.  Within  the  tropics,  and  near  them.  Summer  holds  a 
constant  and  oftentimes  an  oppressive  sceptre.  Growth  and 
vegetation  are  indeed  perpetual,  but  they  have  no  spring,  be- 
cause they  have  no  rest ;  they  have  no  awakening,  because 
they  have  no  sleep  ;  they  do  not  burst  forth  in  the  gladness 
of  an  annual  jubilee,  because  they  have  never  been  bound 
or  restrained. 

4.  In  our  own  climate  the  signs  of  Spring  do  not  appear 
so  early  as  they  do  in  some  others.  Even  the  month  of 
May  is  not  g-enerally  to  be  recognised,  in  this  part  of  our 
country,  as  the  same  which  poetry  has  loved  to  draw  with 
its  brightest  colors.  And  yet  the  three  months  which  are 
called  the  spring  months,  deserve  their  name  here  as  truly 
as  in  any  other  part  of  the  world ;  for  it  is  within  their 
term  that  the  real  springing  of  the  year  takes  place.  Our 
breezes  are  not  so  soft  and  balmy,  nor  do  our  flowers  bloom 


316  THE    FOURTH    READER. 

so  soon  or  so  profusely,  as  in  some  other  climes ;  but  the 
winds  are  sensibly  changed  from  the  blasts  of  winter,  and 
the  rudiments  of  flowers  and  fruits  are  sprouting  and  bud- 
ding everywhere  around  us.  Our  Spring  is  really  the  op- 
ening and  leading  season  ;  that  season  of  preparation  and 
renewed  growth  and  activity,  which  tells  of  the  commence- 
ment of  nature's  year,  and  speaks  the  newly-uttered  blessing 
of  nature's  God. 

5.  Let  us  contemplate,  for  a  few  moments,  the  animated 
scene  which  is  presented  by  our  Spring.  The  earth,  loos- 
ened by  the  victorious  sun,  springs  from  the  hard  dominion 
of  winter's  frost,  and,  no  longer  offering  a  bound-up,  re- 
pulsive surface  to  the  husbandman,  invites  his  cultivating 
labors.  The  streams  are  released  from  their  icy  fetters, 
and  spring  forward  on  their  unobstructed  way,  full  of  spark- 
ling waters,  which  sing  and  rejoice  as  they  run  on.  "  The 
trees  of  the  Lord  are  full  of  sap,"  which  now  springs  up 
into  their  before  shrunk  and  empty  vessels,  causing  the  buds 
to  swell,  and  the  yet  unclothed  branches  and  twigs  to  lose 
their  rigid  appearance,  and  assume  a  fresher  hue,  and  a 
more  rounded  form.  Beneath  them,  and  in  every  warm 
and  sheltered  spot,  the  wild  plants  are  springing. 

6.  Some  of  these  are  just  pushing  up  their  tender,  crisp, 
and  yet  vigorous  sprouts,  thrusting  aside  the  dead  leaves 
with  their  folded  heads,  and  finding  their  sure  way  out  into 
the  light ;  while  others  have  sent  forth  their  delicate  fo- 
liage, and  hung  out  their  buds  on  slender  stems ;  and  oth- 
ers still  have  unfolded  their  flowers,  which  look  up  into  the 
air  unsuspectingly  and  gayly,  like  innocence  upon  an  un- 
tried world.  The  grass  is  springing  for  the  scythe,  and  the 
grain  for  the  sickle ;  for  they  grow,  by  commandment,  for 
the  service  of  man,  and  death  is  everywhere  the  fate  and 
issue  of  life. 

7.  But  it  is  not  only  senseless  things,  which  are  thus  vis- 
ibly springing  at  this  their  appointed  season.  The  various 
tribes  of  animated  nature  show,  that  it  is  Spring  also  with 
them.  The  birds  rise  up  on  elastic  wing,  and  make  a  joy- 
ous music  for  the  growing  plants  to  spring  to.  Animals, 
that  have  lain  torpid  through  the  benumbing  winter,  spring 
up  from  their  secret  beds  and  dormitories,  and  resume  their 
habits  of  activity  once  more.  Innumerable  insects  spring 
up  from  the  cells  which  they  had  formed  beyond  the  reach 


SPRING  317 

of  frost,  and  in  new  attire  commence  their  winged  exist- 
ence. The  hum  of  happy  life  is  heard  from  myriads  of 
little  creatures,  who,  born  in  the  morning,  will  die  ere  night. 
In  that  short  term,  however,  they  will  have  accomplished 
the  purposes  of  their  living ;  and,  if  brought  to  this  test, 
there  are  many  human  lives  which  are  shorter  and  vainer 
than  theirs ;  and  what  is  any  life,  when  past,  but  a  day  ? 

8.  Let  us  go  abroad  amidst  this  general  springing  of  the 
earth  and  nature,  and  we  shall  see  and  feel,  that  God's 
blessing  is  there.  The  joy  of  recovery,  the  gladness  of 
escape,  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  the  exultation  of  commen- 
cing or  renewed  existence,  these  are  the  happiness  and  bles- 
sing which  are  given  from  above,  and  the  praise  and  the 
hymn  which  ascend  from  beneath.  Another  and  a  milder 
order  of  things  seems  to  be  beginning.  The  gales,  though 
not  the  warm  breathings  of  Summer,  flow  to  us  as  if  they 
came  from  some  distant  summer  clime,  and  were  cooled 
and  moderated  on  their  way  ;  while,  at  no  distant  intervals, 
the  skies,  in  their  genial  ministry,  baptize  the  offspring  of 
earth  with  their  softest  and  holiest  showers.  "  Thou  visi- 
test  the  earth  and  waterest  it;  thou  makest  it  soft  with 
showers ;  thou  blessest  the  springing  thereof." 

9.  Surely  we  cannot  stand  still  in  such  a  scene,  and, 
when  everything  else  is  springing,  let  it  be  winter  in  our 
souls.  Let  us  rather  open  our  hearts  to  the  renovating  in- 
fluences of  Heaven,  and  sympathize  with  universal  nature. 
If  our  love  to  God  has  been  chilled  by  any  of  the  wintry 
aspects  of  the  world,  it  is  time,  it  is  time,  that  it  should 
be  resuscitated,  and  that  it  should  spring  up  in  ardent 
adoration  to  the  Source  of  light  and  life.  It  is  time,  that 
our  gratitude  should  be  waked  from  its  sleep,  and  our  de- 
votion aroused,  and  that  all  our  pious  aflections,  shaking 
off*  their  torpor,  should  come  out  into  the  beams  of  God's 
presence,  and  receive  new  powers  from  their  invigorating 
warmth.  It  is  time,  too,  that  our  social  charities,  if  any 
*' killing  frost"  has  visited  them,  should  be  cured  of  their 
numbness  and  apathy,  and  go  forth  among  the  children  and 
brethren  of  the  great  family,  and  feel,  as  they  rise  and 
move,  that  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty  Father  is  upon  their 
springing. 


gl8  THE  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  CLVI.     Autumn. 


1.  Let  the  young  go  out,  in  these  hours,  under  the  de- 
scendmg  sun  of  the  year,  into  the  fields  of  nature.  Their 
hearts  are  now  ardent  with  hope,  —  with  the  hopes  of  fame, 
of  honor,  or  of  happiness;  and,  in  the  long  perspective  which 
is  before  them,  their  imagination  creates  a  world  where  all 
may  be  enjoyed. 

2.  Let  the  scenes  which  they  now  may  witness  moder- 
ate, but  not  extinguish,  their  ambition ;  while  they  see  the 
jearly  desolation  of  nature,  let  them  see  it  as  the  emblem 
of  mortal  hope  ;  while  they  feel  the  disproportion  between 
the  powers  they  possess  and  the  time  they  are  to  be  employ- 
ed, let  them  carry  their  ambitious  eye  beyond  the  world ; 
and  while,  in  these  sacred  solitudes,  a  voice  in  their  own 
bosom  corresponds  to  the  voice  of  decaying  nature,  let  them 
take  that  high  decision  which  becomes  those  who  feel  them- 
selves the  inhabitants  of  a  greater  world,  and  who  look  to 
a  being  incapable  of  decay. 

3.  Let  the  busy  and  the  active  go  out,  and  pause  for  a 
time  amid  the  scenes  which  surround  them,  and  learn  the 
high  lesson  which  nature  teaches  in  the  hours  of  its  fall. 
They  are  now  ardent  with  all  the  desires  of  mortality ;  and 
fame,  and  interest,  and  pleasure,  are  displaying  to  them  their 
shadowy  promises;  and,  in  the  vulgar  race  of  life,  many 
weak  and  many  worthless  passions  are  too  naturally  engen- 
dered. Let  them  withdraw  themselves  for  a  time  from  the 
agitations  of  the  world ;  let  them  mark  the  desolation  of 
summer,  and  listen  to  the  winds  of  winter,  which  begin  to 
murmur  above  their  heads. 

4.  It  is  a  scene  which,  with  all  its  power,  has  yet  no  re- 
proach ;  it  tells  them,  that  such  is  also  the  fate  to  which 
they  must  come ;  that  the  pulse  of  passion  must  one  day 
beat  low  ;  that  the  illusions  of  time  must  pass ;  and  "  that 
the  spirit  must  return  to  Him  who  gave  it."  It  reminds 
them,  with  gentle  voice,  of  that  innocence  in  which  life  was 
begun,  and  for  which  no  prosperity  of  vice  can  make  any 

.  compensation ;  and  that  angel  who  is  one  day  to  stand  upon 
the  earth,  and  to  "  swear  that  time  shall  be  no  more,"  seems 
now  to  whisper  to  them,  amid  the  hollow  winds  of  the  year, 
what  manner  of  men  they  ought  to  be,  who  must  meet  that 
decisive  hour. 


THE  IDIOT.  819^ 

5.  There  is  an  eventide  in  human  life,  a  season  when  the 
eye  becomes  dim,  and  the  strength  decays,  and  when  the 
winter  of  age  begins  to  shed  upon  the  human  head  its  pro- 
phetic snow.  It  is  the  season  of  life  to  which  the  present 
is  most  analogous  ;  and  much  it  becomes,  and  much  it  would 
profit  you,  to  mark  the  instructions  which  the  season  brings. 
The  spring  and  the  summer  of  your  days  are  gone,  and  with 
them,  not  only  the  joys  they  knew,  but  many  of  the  friends 
who  gave  them.  You  have  entered  upon  the  autumn  of 
your  being,  and  v/hatever  may  have  been  the  profusion  of 
your  spring,  or  the  warm  intemperance  of  your  summer, 
there  is  yet  a  season  of  stillness  and  of  solitude  which  the 
beneficence  of  Heaven  affords  you,  in  which  you  may  medi- 
tate upon  the  past  and  the  future,  and  prepare  yourselves 
for  the  mighty  change  which  you  are  soon  to  undergo. 

6.  If  it  be  thus  you  have  the  wisdom  to  use  the  decaying 
season  of  nature,  it  brings  with  it  consolations  more  valu- 
able than  all  the  enjoyments  of  former  days.  In  the  long 
retrospect  of  your  journey,  you  have  seen  every  day  the 
shades  of  the  evening  fall,  and  every  year  the  clouds  of  win- 
ter gather.  But  you  have  seen  also,  every  succeeding  day, 
the  morning  arise  in  its  brightness,  and,  in  every  succeeding 
year,  the  spring  return  to  renovate  the  winter  of  nature.  It 
is  now  you  may  understand  the  magnificent  language  of 
Heaven,  — it  mingles  its  voice  with  that  of  revelation,  — it 
summons  you,  in  these  hours  when  the  leaves  fall,  and  the 
winter  is  gathering,  to  that  evening  study  which  the  mercy 
of  Heaven  has  provided  in  the  book  of  salvation  ;  and,  while 
the  shadowy  valley  opens  which  leads  to  the  abode  of  death, 
it  speaks  of  that  hand  which  can  comfort  and  can  save,  and 
which  can  conduct  to  those  "  green  pastures,  and  those  still 
waters,"  where  there  is  an  eternal  spring  for  the  children  of 
God. 


i^:  LESSON   CLVII.     The  Idiot. 

1.  A  POOR  widow,  in  a  small  town  in  the  north  of  England, 
kept  a  booth  or  stall  of  apples  and  sweetmeats.  She  had 
an  idiot  child,  so  utterly  helpless  and  dependent,  that  he 
did  not  appear  to  be  ever  alive  to  anger  or  self-defence. 
He  sat  all  day  at  her  feet,  and  seemed  to  be  possessed  of 
.no  other  sentiment  of  the  human  kind,  than  confidence  in 


320  THE    FOURTH   READER. 

his  mother's  love,   and  a  dread  of  the  schoolboys,  by  whoiQ 
he  was  often  annoyed. 

2.  His  whole  occupation,  as  he  sat  on  the  ground,  was 
in  swinging  backwards  and  forwards,  singing  *•  pal-lal "  in 
a  low,  pathetic  voice,  only  interrupted  at  intervals,  on  the 
appearance  of  any  of  his  tormentors,  when  he  clung  to  his 
mother  in  alarm.  From  morning  till  evening  he  sung  his 
plaintive  and  aimless  ditty ;  at  night,  when  his  poor  mother 
gathered  up  her  little  wares  to  return  home,  so  deplorable 
did  his  defects  appear,  that,  while  she  carried  her  table  on 
her  head,  her  stock  of  little  merchandise  in  her  lap,  and  her 
Btool  in  one  hand,  she  was  obliged  to  lead  him  by  the 
other.  Ever  and  anon,  as  any  of  the  schoolboys  appeared 
in  view,  the  harmless  thing  clung  close  to  her,  and  hid  his 
face  in  her  bosom  for  protection. 

3.  A  human  creature  so  far  below  the  standard  of  humani- 
ty, was  nowhere  ever  seen ;  he  had  not  even  the  shallow 
cunning  which  is  often  found  among  these  unfinished  beings ; 
and  his  simplicity  could  not  even  be  measured  by  the  stand- 
ard we  would  aj)ply  to  the  capacity  of  a  lamb.  Yet  it  had 
a  feeling  rarely  manifested  even  in  the  affectionate  dog,  and 
a  knowledge  never  shown  by  any  mere  animal.  He  was 
sensible  of  his  mother's  kindness,  and  how  much  he  owed 
to  her  care. 

4.  At  night,  when  she  spread  his  humble  pallet,  though  he 
knew  not  prayer,  nor  could  comprehend  the  solemnities  of 
worship,  he  prostrated  himself  at  her  feet;  and,  as  he  kissed 
them,  mumbled  a  kind  of  mental  orison,  as  if  in  fond  and 
holy  devotion.  In  the  morning,  before  she  went  abroad  to 
resume  her  station  in  the  market-place,  he  peeped  anxiously 
out  to  reconnoitre  the  street;  and,  as  often  as  he  saw  any 
of  the  schoolboys  in  the  way,  he  held  her  firmly  back,  and 
sung  his  sorrowful  "  pal-lal." 

5.  One  day  the  poor  woman  and  her  idiot  boy  were  miss- 
ed from  the  market-place,  and  the  charity  of  some  of  the 
neighbors  induced  them  to  visit  her  hovel.  They  found  her 
dead  on  her  sorry  couch,  and  the  boy  sitting  beside  her, 
holding  her  hand,  swinging  and  singing  his  pitiful  lay  more 
sorrowfully  than  he  had  ever  done  before.  He  could  not 
speak,  but  only  utter  a  brutish  gabble  ;  sometimes,  however, 
he  looked  as  if  he  comprehended  something  of  what  was  said. 

6.  On  this  occasion,  when  the  neighbors  spoke  to  him, 
he  looked  up  with  the  tear  in  his  eye ;  and,  clasping  the  cold 


VVAVERLEY    AND    FERGUS  MAC-IVOR.     321 

hand  more  tenderly,  sunk  the  strain  of  his  mournful  <'pal- 
lal  "  into  a  softer  and  sadder  key.  The  spectators,  deeply 
affected,  raised  him  from  the  body  :  and  he  surrendered  his 
hold  of  the  earthly  hand  without  resistance,  retiring  in  si- 
lence to  an  obscure  corner  of  the  room.  One  of  them, 
looking  towards  the  others,  said  to  them,  "  Poor  wretch  ! 
what  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  "  At  that  moment  he  resumed 
his  chant ;  and,  lifting  two  handfuls  of  dust  from  the  floor, 
sprinkled  it  on  his  head,  and  sung,  with  a  wild  and  clear 
heart-piercing  pathos,  ''  PaHal,  —  pal-lal." 


LESSON   CLVIII.     Interview  between  Waverlcy  and  Fer- 
gus Mac-Ivor. 

1.  '*  Are  you  to  take  the  field  so  soon,  Fergus,"  he 
asked,  ''  that  you  are  making  all  these  martial  prepara- 
tions?" 

"  When  we  have  settled  that  you  go  with  me,  you  shall 
know  all ;  but,  otherwise,  the  knowledge  might  rather  be 
prejudicial  to  you." 

2.  **  But  are  you  serious  in  your  purpose,  with  such  in- 
ferior forces,  to  rise  against  an  established  government?  It 
is  mere  frenzy." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  take  good  care  of  myself.  We  shall  at  least 
use  the  compliment  of  Conan,  who  never  got  a  stroke  but 
he  gave  one.  I  would  not,  however,"  continued  the  chief- 
tain, "  have  you  think  me  mad  enough  to  stir  till  a  favor- 
able opportunity  ;  I  will  not  slip  my  dog  before  the  game's 
afoot.  But,  once  more,  will  you  join  with  us,  and  you  shall 
know  all?" 

3.  **  How  can  I  ?  "  said  Waverley ;  "  I,  who  have  so 
lately  held  that  commission  which  is  now  posting  back  to 
those  that  gave  it  ?  My  accepting  it  implied  a  promise  of 
fidelity,  and  an  acknowledgment  of  the  legality  of  the  gov- 
ernment." 

4.  "A  rash  promise,"  answered  Fergus,  "  is  not  a  steel 
handcuff;  it  may  be  shaken  off,  especially  when  it  was  given 
under  deception,  and  has  been  repaid  by  insult.  But  if  you 
cannot  immediately  make  up  your  mind  to  a  glorious  re- 
venge, go  to  England,  and,  ere  you  cross  the  Tweed,  you 
will  hear  tidings  that  will  make  the  world  ring ;  and  if  Sir 


822  THE   FOURTH  READER. 

Everard  be  the  gaUant  old  cavalier  I  have  heard  him  de- 
scribed by  some  of  our  honest  gentlemen  of  the  year  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifteen,  he  will  find  you  a  better 
horse-troop  and  a  better  cause  than  you  have  lost." 

5.  "  But  your  sister,  Fergus?" 

*'  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend  !  "  replied  the  chief,  laughing  ; 
*'  how  vexest  thou  this  man  !  —  Speak'st  thou  of  nothing  but 
of  ladies?" 

"  Nay,  be  serious,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Waverley ;  "  I 
feel,  that  the  happiness  of  my  future  life  must  depend  upon 
the  answer  which  Miss  Mac-Ivor  shall  make  to  what  I  ven- 
tured to  tell  her  this  morning." 

"  And  is  this  your  very  sober  earnest,"  said  Fergus,  more 
gravely  "or  are  we  in  the  land  of  romance  and  fiction?" 

"My  earnest,  undoubtedly.  How  could  you  suppose  me 
jesting  on  such  a  subject?  " 

6.  "Then,  in  very  sober  earnest,"  answered  his  friend, 
•'  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it;  and  so  highly  do  I  think  of 
Flora,  that  you  are  the  only  man  in  England  for  whom  I 
would  say  so  much.  But  before  you  shake  my  hand  so 
warmly,  there  is  more  to  be  considered.  Your  own  family, 
—  will  they  approve  your  connecting  yourself  with  the  sis- 
ter of  a  high-born  Highland  beggar  ?  " 

*'  My  uncle's  situation,"  said  Waverley,  "  his  general  opin- 
ions, and  his  uniform  indulgence,  entitle  me  to  say,  that 
birth  and  personal  qualities  are  all  he  would  look  to  in  such 
a  connexion.  And  where  can  I  find  both  united  in  such 
excellence  as  in  your  sister?" 

*'  Oh,  nowhere !  "  replied  Fergus,  with  a  smile.  ^'  But 
your  father  will  expect  a  father's  prerogative  in  being  con- 
sulted." 

7.  "  Surely;  but  his  late  breach  with  the  ruling  powers  re- 
moves all  apprehension  of  objection  on  his  part,  especially 
as  I  am  convmced,  that  my  uncle  will  be  warm  in  my  cause." 

"Religion,  perhaps,"  said  Fergus,  "may  make  obstacles, 
though  we  are  not  bigoted  Catholics." 

"  My  grandmother  was  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  her 
religion  was  never  objected  to  by  my  family.  Do  not  think 
of  my  friends,  dear  Fergus  ;  let  me  rather  have  your  influ*- 
ence  where  it  may  be  more  necessary  to  remove  obstacles, -^^ 
I  mean  with  your  lovely  sister." 

8.  "My  lovely  sister,"  replied  Fergus,  "like  her  loving 
brother,  is  very  apt  to  have  a  pretty  decisive  will  of  her 


A    SHIP    SINKING.  823 

own,  by  which,  m  this  case,  you  must  be  ruled ;  but  you 
shall  not  want  my  interest,  nor  my  counsel.  And,  in  the 
first  place,  I  will  give  you  one  hint.  —  Loyalty  is  her  ruling 
passion  ;  and  since  she  could  spell  an  English  book,  she  has 
been  in  love  with  the  memory  of  the  gallant  Captain  Wogan, 
who  renounced  the  service  of  the  usurper  Cromwell  to  join  the 
standard  of  Charles  the  Second,  marched  a  handful  of  caval- 
ry from  London  to  the  Highlands  to  join  Middleton,  then  in 
arms  for  the  king,  and  at  length  died  gloriously  in  the  royal 
cause.  Ask  her  to  show  you  some  verses  she  made  on  his 
history  and  fate ;  they  have  been  much  admired,  I  assure 
you.  The  next  point  is,  —  I  think  I  saw  Flora  go  up  to- 
wards the  waterfall  a  short  time  since,  —  follow,  man,  follow ! 
don't  allow  the  garrison  time  to  strengthen  its  purposes  of 
resistance.  Seek  Flora  out,  and  learn  her  decision  as  soon 
as  you  can,  and  Cupid  go  with  you,  while  I  go  to  look  over 
belts  and  cartouch-boxes." 


LESSON  CLIX.     A  Ship  Sinking. 

1.  Her  giant-form, 
O'er  wrathful  surge,  through  blackening  storm, 
Majestically  calm  would  go 
'Mid  the  deep  darkness,  white  as  snow  ! 
But  gently  now  the  small  waves  glide, 
Like  playful  lambs  o'er  a  mountain's  side. 
So  stately  her  bearing,  so  proud  her  array, 
The  main  she  will  traverse  for  ever  and  aye. 
Many  ports  will  exult  at  the  gleam  of  her  mast! 
Hush !  hush  !  thou  vain  dreamer !  this  hour  is  her  last 

2.  Five  hundred  souls,  in  one  instant  of  dread, 
Are  hurried  o'er  the  deck  ; 
And  fast  the  miserable  ship 
Becomes  a  lifeless  wreck. 
Her  keel  hath  struck  on  a  hidden  rock, 
Her  planks  are  torn  asunder. 
And  down  come  her  masts  with  a  reeling  shock, 
And  a  hideous  crash  like  thunder. 
Her  sails  are  draggled  in  the  brine, 
That  gladdened  late  the  skies, 


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•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4 
days  prior  to  due  date. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

JAN  01  2001 


12,000(11/95) 


YA  04424 


541 184 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


*>^. 


",-^i 


iii^ 


